


Hatshipping Vol. I

by Draconicmaw



Series: Hatshipping [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Genderbending, Multi, Random ships, just some genderbending every once and a great while, random pairings, what even....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw
Summary: I have unleashed the ultimate chaos upon the world. Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, I introduce you to Hat-kami! Characters thrown at random (literally random. It could not get MORE random) at each other! What more could you want? In other words, a collection of crackshippy oneshots. Pairings will be added as I go!





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Fanfiction.net has this rule where you can't have chapters purely dedicated to author's notes, so I made a clever work around. It still has a lot of relevant information, so I am still going to post it on here.

**The Beginning**

The reader steps into a dimly lit room. All about, candles flicker softly and cast their warm glow across the stone walls. Draconicmaw kneels before a candlelit altar, upon which perched a beaten, well-worn hat.

“Grant me entertaining ships, O Great and Powerful and Wise Hat-kami. I make offerings of bits of paper, all with Yu-Gi-Oh! characters inscribed upon them.”

The reader makes a small grunt, a clearing of the throat.

Draconicmaw looks over her shoulder. “Oh, you’ve arrived. I didn’t think anyone would show, to be honest. The character tags on this are… weird. Atypical pairings… though that’s an understatement.” She stands up and brushes the dust and the dirt off of her knees. “You’re probably wondering what’s going on.”

The reader nods.

“Well, you see, this website has a rule against chapters that are devoted purely for the purpose of author’s notes, so I playfully formulate my messages to the reader in a narrative story-telling format.” She gestures to the room around her. “Like this.” She jumps once in place. “And this.”

The reader blinks.

“Annnyways, there is no ship called **Hatshipping**. At least, I don’t think there is.” She taps her chin. “ _But_ , it is a thing now. It’s kind of my thing. I did it for the Fairy Tail fandom with my friend Marie Raven, although that is now on seemingly permanent hiatus.” She shrugs. “It’s whatever.” She adjusts her glasses and carefully lifts the hat off the altar. “This is Hat-kami.” She gingerly steps across the stone floor.

She hold the hat up to the reader. It has bits of paper folded up in it.

“Those bits of paper have names written on them. Names of Yu-Gi-Oh! characters.” She guides you to a seat. “Please, hold Hat-kami for me. But, be careful. He can be temperamental.”

The reader delicately cradles Hat-kami in cupped palms. Draconicmaw plucks a piece of paper out. She unfolds it. “Duke Devlin. Or Otogi whatever-the-crap-his-name-is.” She carefully sets the piece aside. She takes another out. “Ishizu Ishtar.” She smiles at the reader. “Jadeshipping.” She tosses the pieces back into the hat after refolding them. “So, basically, Hat-kami decides who is paired with who. Then, I write the pairings down. I put the pairings on bits of paper and replace the names with them. Then, Hat-kami decides the order of the chapters.”

She waves a paper around. It has poor handwriting on it in some sort of a list.

“It’s all up to chance. Or Hat-kami. Whatever you think is funnier. Same thing, really. Some of these pairings are pretty cracky. Some are not. It’s hard to get _really_ cracky pairings, simply because this fandom is not afraid to pair everyone with everyone else.” She tilts her head to the side. “Though I’ve had to invent a few ship names already just from the first fourteen pairings.” She shrugs again. “They might already have names and I just couldn’t find it.”

**“Please let me know if my ship names are wrong, or if there is already a ship name for a pairing that I thought I had to name myself.**

“You, as the reader, may request ONE CHARACTER in a chapter. Hat-kami will decide the rest. Note, if you request TWO CHARACTERS, Hat-kami and I will pick a third person to slap on. I will do a maximum of three characters in a ship.

**“It is inevitable that there will be an overwhelming amount of guy-on-guy ships. The males far outweigh the females in this fandom. That being said, I may also genderbend from time to time. I know that that is a little taboo in this fandom (at least on some hemispheres of ffn, it is), but _I really don’t give a crap about our societal norms._**

“No weird incest stuff. I’m not into writing that crap, reading that crap, none of that crap.

**“Some characters have not been added into the hat yet. I will add them if they are requested, or when I feel like I am ready to write that character.**

“There is the distinct possibility that characters may be removed from the hat. Such as Arkana/Pandora. He’s in there. I thought it would be funny. But now I realize that I actually don’t want to write him. At all. But he will be present for at least one pairing.

**“The rating of this collection might go up. I am not afraid to slap some lemons and limes in here. _I am that insane. You may get to see some crazy shit._**

“These will vary in length between short-shorts (drabbles) to mid-length to long oneshots. As far as I am concerned, there will not be sequels unless Hat-kami repeats a pairing. Also, these stories are unconnected unless otherwise stated in the stories themselves.

**“This is actually one of my lowest priorities right now. DaD and MotG come first. Sorry. At least these aren’t too much of a commitment for you, as the reader.”**

Draconicmaw adjusts her glasses. “I think that’s all I have to say so far.” She smacks her forehead. “Oh yeah! The first fourteen pairings have already been decided. If you request a character that’s in one of those pairings, it will simply shift forward on the roster.”

The reader blinks at her.

“Yeah, I know that was a lot to take in. Anywho, l hope you enjoy Hatshipping!”

**Next up: Jadeshipping (Duke Devlin x Ishizu Ishtar)**


	2. Jadeshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Jadeshipping (Duke Devlin x Ishizu Ishtar)  
> This one is on the short side. Like, short short. It’s a drabble.

**No Country for Young Boys**

“Ladies’ Man” was an understatement when describing Duke Devlin. Girls and women alike fawned over him endlessly. He liked it. He _loved_ it. The attention stoked his ego in ways that winning games never could (not that he would admit that out loud, especially around the likes of Yugi). As far was Duke was concerned, there was no female he _couldn’t_ get to fawn over him, to blush and flutter her eyelashes in an attempt to enamor him as much as he did her.

But… there was a first for everything.

Ishizu Ishtar was as stone-faced as the relics she guarded.

“I’m sure some men find your sheer… _regality_ rather intimidating?” Duke simpered.

“I haven’t ever been concerned enough to ask.” And though her voice rang with sincerity, she seemed no more receptive to his advances.

“Ah, yes, your first love is your work,” Duke said with a nod and a toss of his hair. “Mine, as well, is my work.”

Aquamarine eyes blinked at him slowly. “I’m sure.”

His eyebrow ticked. There was no way that he missed that little jab, the subtle inflection of dry irony.

The kite has talons, now, does she?

“Anyway, I must be off. There are several museum transports that I must personally oversee.” She stood smoothly from her seat. The others looked at her.

Tea smiled. “Well, thanks for visiting us. Make sure to bring Marik next time! You two are always welcome.”

Ishizu smiled back. “Your kindness and forgiving is always so stunning. I will drag Marik along by his ear if I must.”

Duke gritted his teeth. _They_ receive warmth and gentle responses, but _he_ receives cold indifference and veiled jabs!

With how much charm he was laying on, she should have exploded into giggles and virginal blushes! He pouted into his cup. She was probably asexual or even a lesbian, otherwise he would have had her wrapped around his little finger. _In more ways than one_.

Before she left, Ishizu leaned into his ear. “Your expressions are more open than a children’s book. Know that I simply have no interest in bratty boys playing as men, _Duke Devlin._ ”

She turned on her heel sashayed her way from the room.

“Woah, Duke, what’s wrong? Your face is really red!” Yugi exclaimed.

“I need to use the bathroom,” he growled before he stomped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Wishshipping (Joey Wheeler x Yugi Muto)


	3. Wishshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Wishshipping (Joey Wheeler x Yugi Muto)  
> It’s my personal headcanon that Joey would really like corny sci-fi flicks.

The bikini-clad woman screamed in agony as the shark-barracuda-octopus-pterodactyl monster savagely bit into her shapely legs and shook its head from side-to-side like a terrier. Soupy blood, weirdly milky, splashed across the sand. The beast roared despite having a mouthful of squirming human flesh.

Joey winced. “Ouchie, what a terrible way to die, eh, Yug’?”

The monster used its horribly fabricated tentacles to drag it and its prey back into the blue depths of the ocean.

“Yug’?” he turned to his friend next to him on the couch.

Yugi’s head was tipped back awkwardly, his wild hair splayed over the fabric of the cushion behind him. His mouth was hanging open a little, though his breaths huffed through his nose. Joey chuckled, and Yugi slowly began to tip over. Joey leaned in and caught him with an arm around his shoulders.

Yugi sighed sleepily, without so much as a twitch of the eyelid, and rested his weight against Joey. His rounded, slack face weakly nuzzled into Joey’s shoulder, and his whole body went limp again.

Joey blinked and slowly moved into a more comfortable position.

Dark hair brushed his jaw, and the gentle, oceanic scent of Yugi’s shampoo wafted up to his nose. Heat lapped at Joey’s cheeks. He looked back to the television, though his eyes were unseeing.

Yugi’d always been there for him, even if Joey didn’t deserve it, even if hell itself beat its wings upon his back. Yugi never once abandoned him intentionally, and he always fought with all of his might and then some to get Joey out of the craziest of situations.

Joey could _at least_ let Yugi use him as a body pillow.

Yugi nuzzled him again, inhaled deeply, his small hand curling into Joey’s shirt, right above his heart.

Joey gulped, turned his head, and pressed his lips to Yugi’s forehead. His lips slipped a bit against the silky blonde bangs and tickled his nerves. He rested his head back and watched an old man valiantly attempt to fight off the beast on the television.

Yugi’s lip twitched up before falling back into relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Rodshipping (Priest Set x Marik Ishtar)


	4. Rodshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Rodshipping (Priest Set x Marik Ishtar)  
> Okay, I cannot verbally express how fucking hilarious I find this ship name. I know why it’s called what it is, but please allow me my childish mirth. Thanks.

**Guardian**

Marik simply associated the _presence_ , the _feeling_ , with the Millennium Rod. With it in hand, he never truly felt alone, which he attributed to the fracture in his personality. Yet still, he found himself simply holding the artifact when he… _needed_. Needed someone, though, during that time, he would never admit to the fact, and would act as if he were simply brooding over his power.

But, whole again, and with the Millennium Rod surrendered to Yugi Muto, the presence remained. He felt it drifting about when he sat in the solitude of his home. He felt the entity even when he walked about in public.

He hadn't _known_ it was an ‘entity’ until one late night.

Stirred by nightmares, of his flesh so cruelly torn, he jolted to wakefulness. He lay, sweating profusely in the safety of his bed. He blinked groggily, and he took in the shadow hovering over him with a blink. “Odion…?”

No, too slender.

Piercing blue eyes blinked. Watched.

The presence was familiar, comforting. Marik relaxed back against the sheets, regarded the silhouette with wide, nearly innocent eyes. A slender, cool hand came down, stroked Marik's hair back from his face.

“Rest.”

Marik nuzzled into the hand, and with the gentle caresses lulling him, drifted into peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know these are really short so far, but I'm just getting warmed up to this right now, so, please be patient.  
> Next Up: Darkshipping (Yami Yugi x Yami Bakura) / Casteshipping (Atem x Thief King Bakura)


	5. Darkshipping/Casteshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Darkshipping (Yami Yugi x Yami Bakura) / Casteshipping (Atem x Thief King Bakura)  
> It’s really up to your interpretation on which ship name is better for this story. Normally, I see Casteshipping for Ancient Egypt and Darkshipping for modern times, but it seems more like a personal preference thing to me. Any which way, I LOVE this pairing and I felt so honored that Hat-kami blessed me with it.   
> Also, a juicy M-MA-rated lemon for you. WARNING: Fem!Bakura, because it’s a twist I think you guys will really enjoy. I think it should be stated that Fem!Bakura in a relationship is the embodiment of the song “Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Dead Man.

**Ruin Me**

Atem held the door of the bar open for her.

“You know, for someone who pretends to be so chivalrous, you sure like to pull my hair when you’re fucking me,” she said with a snide half-grin.

He glowered at her, but those red-violet eyes sparkled. “Yet you seem to enjoy every minute of it.”

Her smirk widened,and her teeth glinted ferally. “I didn’t say that I don’t.”

His lip curled up into a snarl, and his hand came down swiftly on the seat of her pants. “Get through the damn door already.”

“And I didn’t think you had the balls to spank me in public. What a pleasant surprise,” she jibed. The bar was crowded; it was a Saturday night. Music throbbed heavily on the thick air. She could already smell the alcohol. A shiver of excitement twined down her spine.

Atem’s firm chest pressed against her shoulders. His hot breath brushed her ear. “Well, are you going to keep walking or will I have to… motivate you to do so?”

“I’m just looking at all these clueless men waiting for me to pickpocket them,” she quipped, trembling briefly from his proximity before she sashayed to the bar.

Even with the music wobbling between them, she could hear his growl. “Bakura, no stealing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ever the pillar of morality. What are you going to do about it?” She gave him a slow, lingering once-over, her smokey-lavender eyes dark. “Punish me?”

His jaw ticked. She smirked. He was _so_ easy to rile. “Like no other.”

Her tongue dragged, slow and obscene, over her lower lip. She perched herself on a bar stool.

“What can I get you two?” the bartender, a tall, dark, and handsome young man asked.

Bakura hummed and tapped her nails on her chin. “‘Tie Me to the Bedpost.’ You know how to make one?” The bartender blushed and nodded. “Thank god. At least one man in this world knows how to please a lady.” She slanted a glance to the man sitting next to her. A smoldering, molten glare.

“I’d like ‘The Leg Spreader,’” Atem said, voice calm, but Bakura could see the tension lining his arms.

“Mmm, straight for some hard stuff,” she simpered. “Be careful, Pharaoh. I want you perfectly coherent when you’re ripping the hair out of my skull later.”

“Oh, I will be.”

The sweating glass clicked onto counter in front of her. Lavender locked with magenta, she lifted the glass and went bottoms up.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before she got onto the small dance floor. Her body rocked and ground and _writhed_ to the beat. Her hands sensually trussed up her long silver hair, and a light sheen of sweat glistened on her bronzed skin. Men ground up against her, cupped her hips as she undulated, but her dark eyes locked on his. Challenging. Mocking. _Beckoning_.

Expressionless, Atem joined the fray. Women flocked to him, to his languid grace even as his hips stirred to the beat. Bakura grinned ferally. Her slender arm twined back, curled around the neck of the man dancing with her. Atem stared from over the shoulder of the woman dancing on him, and his long-fingered hands skimmed along her raised arms sensually. Then, they dragged down her curvaceous body to settle onto her rolling hips.

Heat spiked through Bakura, and she moaned quietly, briefly, but her dancing partner heard it. His hands slid over her body, nearly a mirror image of her lover’s actions before her.

She saw the sneer in Atem’s brows and cackled.

She threw her head back, gripped her own breast, just briefly, but long enough for those violet eyes to _see_ and _darken_.

Her body buzzed, and they broke away from their partners simultaneously. They collided, harsh, undulating to the beat. She sank slowly, her nails clawing down his sides. The waistband of his pants grated under her nails, and she smirked up at him. His fingers sank into her hair, and he yanked her up. Bakura’s knees trembled, her fingers curling and fisting around his belt.

“Already with the hair-pulling? So impatient,” she tried to taunt, but her voice was breathy and shaking.

“You _wicked_ temptress,” he growled. He pressed her tight to his body, arched her painfully against him. She could feel all the lines of his slender, lithe muscles.

Her fingers shook.

“L-Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. Her breath fanned hotly on his cheek and jaw.

“Let’s.”

* * *

The door slammed. Atem’s body was hot, harsh against her, crowded her against the wall. His lips were just as passionate and demanding, and they hungrily devoured hers. He tasted like liquor and lust. She scratched down his chest, and she fumbled to kick off her shoes. He hissed, gripped her hair and wrenched her head. His teeth marred her skin in a series of hard bites down her throat.

She whimpered. He was rough, and she loved it. Numerous times he had tried being gentle with her, but she knew just the right words to say, just the right buttons to push to get him to claw and bite and _yank_ like a wild animal.

“Let me get your fucking shirt off,” she growled, and she fisted the material in her hands.

He drew back, ripped the article over his head and whipped it onto the floor. His chest heaved with each breath. His nimble fingers clutched the waistband of her tight jeans and wrenched it downwards. She hurriedly aided him in peeling them off, and she was pretty sure she heard a seam rip.

He clenched his hands over the bronze flesh of her bare hips. “You raffish wench, _where_ are your undergarments?” he intoned imperiously, but his voice was husky and his thumbs dragged across her skin lustfully.

“Didn’t want them getting in the way,” she hissed back. She fumbled with the zipper of his leather pants. “As if _you_ ever wear any.”

The rest of their clothes became a short breadcrumb trail to the living room; neither had the patience to make it to the bedroom.

Atem pushed her onto the couch, and, nimble as the thief she was, Bakura rolled off and onto the floor. He snarled, lifted her up bodily by her waist. His hot, firm muscles bunched and clenched against her. She shuddered happily. He slammed her into the cushions. His hands shot up to wrap around her wrists and press them down, while the rest of his body settled hard against her. Still, she squirmed and twisted, just to feel his hard body resist her, but only managed to roll onto her stomach before he pinned her again.

Wrestling was their favorite foreplay. Which Bakura found oddly fitting.

His hot, panting breaths fanned over her ear. His teeth dragged along the shell of sensitive cartilage. “ _I will take you until you don’t know which way is up_.”

“Do it!” she snarled back.

His knees knocked into her thighs, parted them roughly. The hot press of his flesh against hers made her brows furrow and her teeth dig into her lower lip. His hips surged onto hers, and his overwhelming heat filled her like a strike of lightning and the following crack of thunder. She gasped weakly, clawed at the cushions, arched herself back into him.

Never had she thought that her greatest enemy would become her most exceptional lover.

He was absorbed wholly in her, in _touching_ her, _tasting_ her. He hardly ever used crude language, not like she did, and would often use the words “taking her.” But she didn’t feel like that was correct. He gave, gave, _gave_ until she was filled to the brim and bursting at the seams.

His nails curled hard into her hips, and he yanked her harder into his merciless thrusts. It was rough, fast, almost painful. Just how she liked it. Her whole body rippled with the force. Her cheek pressed and slid, sweaty and hot, against the cushion beneath her, her disheveled silver hair slick to her temples. Atem hovered close, muscles roiling and brushing her back as he pounded into her. His breaths puffed feverishly over her neck, shoulder, jaw, wherever he decided he would nuzzle and bite and mouth. His low, growling grunts lapped at her senses and made her ever dizzier. She _knew_ his body must _burn_ from the hard, fast pace, just like hers.

Suddenly he tore himself away. “Atem!” Bakura cried in protest, but he simply wrested her onto her hands and knees before taking her again. His strong hand sank into her mussed, sweaty tresses, and, close to the scalp, wrapped tight to yank and bow her back.

Her bleary eyes barely saw the glass door leading to the balcony, perched high over the twinkling city. But she did see their lustful reflection.

Atem loomed above her, chest heaving and muscles defined so sinfully in the dim light. His tense arm held out, hand clenching into her hair and rhythmically tugging. His own disheveled hair was a wild, untamed mane (he’d begun growing it out since regaining a body of his own, years ago now). His face was nothing but a rictus of feral pleasure.

She’d always dreamed of the day she’d defeat him. That day was never to come. But she took solace in the fact that she utterly _ruined_ the noble Pharaoh of yore; she tore him down, degraded him into a humping, snarling _animal._

Seeing her flushed, mewling reflection made her realize she wasn’t much better. In fact, she was worse. Provoking him at every opportunity, simply to unleash his carnal wrath upon her delighting body. _Oh, how she **delighted**_.

He wrenched her up, pressed a hot, wet kiss to her dry, gasping lips. There was something tender and warm in those violet eyes, something that made her heart quicken and throb, with anticipation and bone-deep terror and a flurry of other emotions she couldn’t identify with this rush of pleasure storming over her. His other hand snaked between her thighs, and a long finger feverishly rubbed her most sensitive flesh.

She bucked and writhed in his arms, mouthed weakly at his growling lips. She couldn’t even _moan_ , her breath caught solidly in her throat, as he thrusted her into completion. She crumpled into him, hips fluttering and canting.

“C’mon, c’mon, _Atem_ ,” she hissed, one hand clawing at his tensing thigh, skimming over sweat, the other gripping hard at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“ _Bakura_ ,” he groaned, and he thrusted hard one last time. She could feel his every muscle trembling, his fingers shaking over her flesh, as his lust spilled over. He sank back, arms wrapped tight around her, until he was laying on the cushions with her resting on his chest. Quivering hands caressed over her with a slow tenderness that made her eyes sting. “Bakura…” His lips brushed chastely on her jaw, warm, gentle. “Was that punishment enough, wicked minx?” The words were lilting and teasing, but his voice was soft… sweet.

She lifted her hips, whimpered a little as their bodies disengaged from one another. She carefully rolled to face him. She propped her elbow just by his head, set her jaw on her knuckles.

He was sweaty and flushed and _debauched_. With violet trailing over her features, she knew she looked just the same.

“Punishment? I didn't steal anything,” she muttered, pouting. She couldn't help leaning into his touch as he stroked her hair.

“But you did,” he whispered back. Eyes locked onto hers, he took her hand and slid it onto his chest, over his heart, where she could feel it still racing in its cage of bone and flesh.

He only stared, didn't say anything else, but Bakura could all but hear it, _this, you stole **this**. _

She buried her face in his neck before he could see the moisture that welled in her eyes.

Yes, the Pharaoh wasn't the only one who had become utterly _ruined_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The Leg Spreader” is a purely alcoholic cocktail. Basically mixologists saying “Do you want alcohol with your alcohol? Because we can totally do that.” 
> 
> Also, this is NOT my first lemon, although it is the first I’ve posted on this site. It is much less explicit than my usual, buuuuut it would be my luck to be the ONE person to get booted for sexual content. (On FFN, that is. HERE I FEEL SO FREE)
> 
> Next Up: Dashshipping (Miho Nosaka x Serenity Wheeler/ Shizuka Kawai)


	6. Dashshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Dashshipping (Miho Nosaka x Serenity Wheeler / Shizuka Kawai)
> 
> If you don’t know who Miho Nasako is, she’s from Season 0. They took her out of the reboot because apparently there was one too many girls in their friend group *shrugs*. If you guys think she should be taken out of the hat, I will gladly do so. Anyway, another short one after our lemon last time. I’m using “Shizuka” instead of “Serenity” like I normally would because of the nature of Miho’s existence XD
> 
> Also, I’m amazed I got a Yuri pairing at all. Yu-Gi-Oh is pretty much a sausage party, if you know what I mean...

**Girls Have to Stick Together**

Miho sobbed uncontrollably. “He broke Miho’s heart, Shizuka! How can I go on?!” she cried into her hands.

Shizuka hugged the older girl’s shoulders. She handed Miho a tissue. Miho blew her nose loudly into it and tried to wipe up all her tears and all her snot. Shizuka couldn’t see any of it, but she knew it was there.

Shizuka was genuinely shocked that Miho came to _her_ ; wasn’t Anzu supposed to be Miho’s best friend? Especially when it was such a long way to visit her.

“You’ll make it through. Everybody always does,” Shizuka said softly, and she rubbed Miho’s arm comfortingly.

“B-But he was my soulmate!” Miho wailed.

“Your soulmate wouldn’t cheat on you with another girl, don’t you think?” Shizuka said with a small smile.

Miho sniffled. “Yeah, I guess. But he was so nice to me.” She sounded like she was doing better, composing herself. “Anzu said he was bad news.” She took a deep trembling breath. “ _B-But Miho didn’t listen!_ ” she cried, threw her weight into Shizuka, who wrapped both arms around her.

Ah. That was the reason why she wasn’t crying to Anzu right now.

“Everybody makes mistakes. It’s what makes us human. I’m sure Anzu isn’t mad at you. She might be a little frustrated with the decisions you made, but I don’t think she’ll let that get in the way of your friendship.”

Miho sniffled, her fingers curling into Shizuka’s shirt. “Really?”

Shizuka nodded and brushed her fingers through Miho’s long hair. She wondered what color it was. With how blurry her sight was at this point, even colors were fairly indistinguishable. It felt really soft and smooth, though. Miho must take good care of it.

“You’re so wise, Shizuka,” Miho said with a hiccuping sigh. “Miho is sorry to bother you with all of this when you have plenty of your own problems, but I’m glad I came to you.”

Shizuka laughed. “It’s fine, really. It’s nice to get my mind off my own problems. I’m glad you came to me, too.” It made her day a lot less lonely. “Anyways, we girls have to stick together in a world full of guys like him, right?”

“Right!” Miho chirped. Suddenly, something cool touched Shizuka’s cheek. She realized it was Miho’s lips. Miho gave her a quick peck. “Thank you! You’re such a wonderful person!”

Shizuka’s cheeks hadn’t felt so… _warm_ in such a long time. “Th-thank you! I think you are, too!”

“Miho’s going to save money to visit you all the time, okay?” Miho chattered excitedly.

“I’d love that, but you don’t have to.”

“I know!”

The two stayed in their cozy embrace and talked energetically until Miho had to leave.

“See you later, Shi~zu~ka! I’ll be back soon!”

“Okay, I’m _looking_ forward to it,” Shizuka said.

The two giggled. Hours later, when Shizuka went to bed, she was still smiling, and when she wrapped her arms around herself, she could still feel the glow of Miho’s warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was dreading writing this; I wasn’t sure how this would come out. BUT it was actually really fun and flowed out like water. 
> 
> Also, question, how do you guys feel if I did a few AUs? Because with some characters there is just no possible way they would have ever even met.
> 
> Next Up: Gothshipping (Ryou Bakura x “Bonz”/ “Ghost” Kotsuzuka)


	7. Gothshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Gothshipping (Ryou Bakura x “Bonz” / “Ghost” Kotsuzuka)
> 
> I thought for a moment that I would have to name this ship myself, and then I thought to search using Bonz’s Japanese title, and I found it! LOL

**Travesties**

Sometimes, Ryou wondered if it would help him if he joined AA. It was, in some respects, similar. He’d hurt so many people, while he wasn’t even in control of his own body. He’d tried disposing of the Ring so many times, only for it to find its way back onto his chest like some accursed boomerang. He… _Ryou_ wasn’t the one who did all those horrible things.

But that wasn’t easy to explain to people.

“Hello! I was possessed by an evil spirit that wanted to destroy the world! I’m sorry that you ended up being collateral damage!”

Yeah, people generally didn’t believe that. Not that Ryou blamed them.

Still, he felt guilty. Though it hadn’t been _his_ mind, it had been _his_ body.

He tipped his head back to look up at the hospital. At this time, it was cast in sickly fluorescent tints. He stepped through the sliding door. The nurses hardly paid him any mind, had stopped reprimanding him about the late hour long ago; he was practically part of the scenery here anymore. His soft footfalls followed the same path as ever, as though the outline of his steps marked an eternal trail to his destination. He could have walked it in the dark, in his sleep.

He drifted into the privacy of the room. Life support machines buzzed and gasped and hissed. The blip of the heart monitor kept the same pace as ever.

The chair was still there for him.

Ryou sat with a tired sigh, looked over the pale face of the young man before him.

Body comatose. Soul exiled to torturous oblivion.

Ryou touched the small hand resting limply on the covers. It was warm with life. Ryou’s eyes stung, and he shakily inhaled as he rubbed his eyes with his other hand.

He thought that, just with the banishing of the evil Spirit, all his travesties could be reversed.

Ryou was wrong.

Still, this man, though not pure, was too innocent for any of the otherwordly agony the Spirit had doled to him. He was undeserving of this _penalty_.

Ryou came here whenever he could. Sometimes, it was every night a week. He would visit the other two, but… their families long since removed them from life support.

They were truly deceased.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, pressed his forehead to the sheets. His slender hand curled tightly around the other one in his grasp. “I kn-know that’s not enough, b-but I’m sorry.”

Sometimes, he thought he felt the other boy’s fingers twitch.

But that’s all it was. Imagination.

He cried himself dry, and fell asleep half-slumped on the hospital bed.

A nurse put a blanket over his shoulders, an aching, fond smile on his lips.

He wondered what had happened between the two. But one was silent with sorrow…

And the other would never speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that turned darker than I thought it would. But… I like it. I feel like these are turning out less humorous than anyone expected, even me. But… hey. Whatever. 
> 
> Next Up: Hecatombshipping (Arkana/Pandora x Rebecca Hawkins)


	8. Hecatombshipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Hecatombshipping (Arkana/Pandora x Rebecca Hawkins)
> 
> Okay, pretty sure there isn’t a name for this monstrosity. So I named it. Hecatomb, a great sacrifice, or an extensive loss of life. I picked this name because both Arkana and Rebecca use strategies that require the sacrifice of cards. (Sacrificeshipping is already taken, so much for that.)
> 
> Also, this is Arkana’s one and only appearance unless otherwise requested. Also also, I apologize for the creepiness. Older!Rebecca to help cut down some of the creepiness. I couldn’t think of another way to do this… thing Hat-kami created. I must have displeased Him in some way. I APOLOGIZE, HAT-KAMI. Forgive me for my transgressions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I done… I… I don't even… 
> 
> WE'RE HALFWAY THERE (through the predetermined 14 ships)
> 
> Next Up: Coastershipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Espa Roba)

**Surrogate**

He petted her pale hair. “Look, Catherine. That was our first televised show.” He smiled fondly, but there was a sharpness to his lips.

Rebecca trembled. The rope dug into the corners of her mouth. They were raw now. Her face was crusty and wet with tears. She nodded shakily. She’d... learned better than to disturb his delusions.

He touched her chin, turned her head to him. The light of the television glinted ferally on those eyes, staring from behind his mask. “You’re just a beautiful as you were then.” A gloved thumb traced her eyebrow. “No, I’m sorry. _More_. Your beauty grows, resplendent as a blossoming flower.” He leaned closer, and his lips brushed her forehead. She trembled with the urge to yank herself away. “Would you like something to drink, my dear?”

A nod. The rope did dry out her mouth.

She leaned after him when he left, watched him disappear into the dark recesses of the abandoned warehouse. Her eyes darted about, and she lunged out of the chair. Her arms were tied tight to her body, her legs bound together, but still she desperately squirmed across the floor. Her long hair splayed in her face and on the floor, caught and yanked painfully, yet still she struggled for freedom.

Footsteps echoed back to her.

Tears, hot and salty, cascaded down her face and stung the wounds around her mouth. She squirmed ever frantically.

He hummed joyously. “Catherine, my dear…”

She sobbed into the rope.

Slender fingers curled into the bindings around her torso. “Oh, no, my dear. You're not going to be doing anymore _disappearing acts_ anytime soon.” With a surprising amount of force, he yanked her up.

She writhed against her restraints, eyes wild.

His lips brushed her ear. “Even if you did, I'd find you again, Catherine. I always find you again.”


	9. Coastershipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Coastershipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Espa Roba)
> 
> I laughed my ass off when I found this ship name. Anyway, on to the story.

**Rightful Owner**

Rex rolled his eyes. He wasn’t really sure how the freak managed to find him.

 _It wasn’t clairvoyance,_ he growled to himself. What a fake.

“Uh, greetings, Rex,” the other boy greeted.

Rex rolled his eyes again. He settled further back on the park bench. His arms were splayed out along the back of it. “What the hell do you want, faker?” he grumbled. He was mildly disappointed that all the pigeons flew away. Rex liked pigeons. While the modern-day versions of dinosaurs were pale in comparison to their ancestors, he still liked them. Especially the red-eyed dumpster doves. Resilient little fuckers.

Espa Roba audibly gulped. “Umm… well… you see…”

Rex sighed. “Spit it out.”

Espa scratched his temple, shuffled his feet. He pulled a small envelope out of his pocket.

Okay, maybe Rex’s interest was a little piqued.

“I wanted to give you this,” he murmured, extended the envelope.

Rex slowly took it. His gaze was honed harshly on Espa’s downturned face.

Espa toed a pebble.

Rex looked down at the envelope. Thankfully, it wasn’t sealed, so he just lifted the flap. There was a Duel Monsters Card. It fluttered onto his other palm.

_Serpent Night Dragon_

Dumbfounded, he stared at the twining monster. “What?”

Espa scratched his temple again. “I’m returning it to its rightful owner. I didn’t earn that card like I should’ve.”

Rex scowled at him. “Well, it’s a crap card, anyways. Might as well be _a coaster for your drink_. Why care whether or not you earned it?”

The teal-haired young man finally met his gaze. “Look, I didn’t mean that. It was just all misplaced, foolish bravado, okay? I’m genuinely trying to make amends right now. It took a lot of courage to come over here and give you that.”

Rex breathed out heavily, stared at the card in his hands. He really did miss it. Damn Kaiba and those fucking ante rules.

“Look, I’m just gonna go now. Sorry about the duel and sorry to bother you. Hope you have a good day.”

His footsteps echoed away.

“Wait,” Rex found himself shouting.

Espa turned around.

“How about a rematch? Loser buys dinner.”

Espa smiled, unsure but bright. “... Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Lamentshipping (Priestess Isis x Mahad x Mana)


	10. Lamentshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Lamentshipping (Priestess Isis x Mahad x Mana)
> 
> The first and only threesome listed in the chapters so far. Let’s do this!

**No Warmth Like Yours**

He stirred, his toes curled into the soft sheets. On these cold desert nights, the warmth surrounding him was more than welcome. He rubbed his cheek on the softly curved shoulder in front of him. He knew it was her by her scent. “Mana…” he rumbled raspily.

The figure behind him shifted as well. The arm around his waist tightened briefly before an elegant hand brushed across his stomach. A small, sleepy smile curled his lips. “Isis…”

Careful to wake Mana, he rolled over. Exquisite eyes, glimmering like jewels, blinked with heavy traces of slumber. He tenderly rubbed a palm up and down her back. Her lips, barely moving, breathed his name.

Their foreheads pressed together. Mahad chastely mouthed at her lips. She sighed through her nose, and her sweet breath fanned on his cheek. The kiss deepened, and he cupped her face in one strong hand as the other propped himself up above her. Her slender fingers splayed out and caressed his broad shoulder. He drank her in with soul-deep content.

“Mean,” Mana murmured, “having fun without me.”

The pair looked to the side at the youngest in their bed. She pouted playfully, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Isis leaned into her, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Mana pecked her back. She gazed up at Mahad and grinned.

“I want one from you, too, Master,” she whispered.

“Don’t call me that when we’re like this.”

“Teacher?”

“No, Mana,” he said with mock exasperation.

“Mahad?”

He smiled. “That’s better.” He leaned over to press a chaste, warm kiss to her lips. He settled back and laid between them. The eagerly curled into him, their cheeks on his chest. He petted their backs lovingly.

“There’s no warmth in all the world quite like yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was *this close* to making this another sad one. But I decided against it. So you got this super short thing instead. 
> 
> Next Up: Henchmenshipping (Odion x PaniK)
> 
> WTF, yeah, I don’t know, either...


	11. Henchmenshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Henchmenshipping (Odion/ Rishid Ishtar x PaniK/Panic)
> 
> I had to make a ship name for this one (I think). 
> 
> This is straight-up crack. It’s pretty abridgey, too. How else could I have done this in a simple way?

**H.A.**

No one in the Ishtar family approved of Odion’s choice in boyfriend. Hell, _Odion_ didn’t approve of Odion’s choice in boyfriend. But, what else could one expect when you date someone from your Henchmen Anonymous meetings? Unsavory partners, that’s what you should expect. Nothing less.

 _Okay_ , maybe Odion wasn’t even a quarter as evil as the least evil henchmen there, but it still felt good to be able to talk to some understanding individuals about his problems. Well, as understanding as some of those sociopaths could get.

PaniK had been a long-time henchman under Pegasus. Poor sap. Odion immediately felt sympathy for the guy. Marik could be pretty bad, but… Enough said.

Small conversations grew into outings that grew into romantic rendezvous, whenever the two weren’t busy challenging fifteen-year-olds to children’s card games and losing epically.

 _But_ , the pinnacle of PaniK’s… _unsavory_ behavior nearly split them apart (* _nearly_ ).

Odion accepted the gummy bears without fuss and with enthusiasm. They were delicious, even if they tasted a bit weird.

Odion saw life through a kaleidoscope for the seven hours after that.

* _nearly_ , because out of all the abusive things people have done to him, this wasn’t nearly the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thereeeee. If this pairing ever pops up again, I’ll make sure to give it some proper attention (please, Hat-kami, don’t do that to me), but, until then, this will have to do.
> 
> Next Up: Barbecueshipping (Tristan Taylor x Mako Tsunami)   
> I am too lazy to put their Japanese names. Sorry.


	12. Barbecueshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Barbecueshipping (Tristan Taylor/Hiroto Honda x Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki)
> 
> Some of these ship names are just too good. Also, I'm going to try a lot harder to make these longer for you guys (the few people following this. Love ya!)

**Catch of the Day**

Tristan adjusted his bowtie. He looped a finger around it and tugged. It hardly relieved the pressure against his throat. All around, champagne flutes tinkled and duelists chattered. Somewhere, Yugi and Joey were mingling with their former opponents. In this particular tournament, Yugi once again came out on top over Joey in a edge-of-the-seat, coin-flip duel.

As much as Joey hated it (in so many ways did he hate it), he was once again the lovable underdog.

Tristan didn’t really get why he was here. Okay, that was a lie. He was here to support his friends. But still, he was sticking out a little, even if he tried to linger in the corners and away from the others.

Goddamn, it felt like the bowtie was trying to fucking kill him.

He skirted the edge of the crowd to get to the bar. He passed the orchestra, who were just taking their seats and warming up for the evening. The choppy dissonance of players experimentally gliding their bows across strings whined into the air.

Tristan supposed that it was apropos for him to attend this particular event. It was the Duelist Kingdom’s five-year reunion tournament. Once again hosted by Maximillion Pegasus. Who actually made no appearance. Ever elusive since the incident they were commemorating. Tristan shrugged it off. Pegasus always gave him the willies, anyways. Wouldn’t hurt if the man never showed his face ever again.

Tristan stepped up to the bar. He’d just turned twenty-one the previous spring. Might as well utilize it.

The bartender quickly served him his drink, and he remained perched at the bar as he swirled the amber liquid in its tumbler. The lapping of the alcohol around the ice was oddly fascinating.

“Greetings, Tristan Taylor. I did not expect you to be here.”

Tristan glanced over. Mako Tsunami. He'd surprisingly managed to tame all of his dark wild hair into a ponytail. He wore a black suit, an elegant swallowtail jacket with silver embroidery. A deep blue bowtie rested at the hollow of his throat. Tristan felt a little underdressed standing next to him.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, I came to watch Joey and Yugi duel.” He took a quick sip of his drink and tilted his drink toward the other man. “Nice suit. Pretty sharp.”

Mako tipped his head forward. “Why, thank you.” He swiped a finger along the embroidered lapel. “I feel a bit overdressed.”

Tristan laughed. “No, you look great. Everyone else is _under_ dressed.”

Mako laughed, that hearty laugh that made Tristan feel nostalgic and think of cliffs and roasted fish. “I like that perspective.”

“That's what life's all about. Perspective.”

Mako nodded. The hair pulled back from his face accentuated his sparkling eyes and the scar curling from his cheek and over his jaw. He was… handsome.

Tristan hoped Mako would attribute the heat in his cheeks to the alcohol.

“Tell me, Tristan, what have you been up to?” Mako asked, and he turned away to quickly order a beverage.

Tristan stirred his drink. “I customize motorcycles. Do some mechanics, too. You?”

Mako sipped from his glass. “I have been trying to keep up with all the new Duel Monsters rules.”

“Doing a pretty good job, too. Third place is nothing to laugh at,” Tristan replied.

Mako lifted a shoulder.

Jesus. His shoulders were _broad_. Muscles built from hard work.

“I also own a fleet of fishing boats. But fishing is less like work and more like breathing for me.”

Based on that suit, the fishing business had been kind to Mako.

“I've always been curious about how fishing boats are _really_ run. I mean, there are all of these reality TV shows, but those are usually nothing but a bunch of glorified theatrics. Then there's articles and whatnot, but it's really not the same as seeing it with your own two eyes, you know?” Tristan found himself rambling, but Mako's keen eyes seemed intent on what he was saying, fully involved.

“I understand what you mean, Tristan,” Mako replied. He smiled, and the boyish quality of it contrasted greatly with his suave appearance. “If you ever find yourself curious enough, you'd be more than welcome to come along with me on one of our voyages.”

Tristan nearly dropped his drink. If there was one word to describe Mako Tsunami, it was _earnest_ , so the invitation was one-hundred-percent genuine. “Wow, really?”

Mako clapped a bronzed hand onto Tristan's shoulder. Tristan was by no measure weak, but even he was nearly pitched over by the enthusiastic force. “Of course, my friend. I'm always willing to teach others about the ocean and all it has to offer us.”

“I mean, likewise to you. If you're ever curious about what I do, you're always welcome in my shop.”

Mako grinned. “I might have to take you up on that offer sometime.” He took the napkin from under his drink and requested a pen from the bartender. He quickly scrawled onto it and it to Tristan. “Here is my personal phone number. Call me whenever the sea calls your name.” He winked. “Or even if you just want to talk.”

Tristan could only blink at the other man with flushed cheeks.

Mako's hand was on his shoulder again, but this time… it was gentle and lingering. His palm slid along the material as he started to step away. “I'll see you later, my friend.”

Tristan nodded, the napkin limp in his hand as he stared after the other man.

He wasn't sure what just happened, but he knew his heart was racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Gapshipping (Mai Valentine/Kujaku x Mokuba Kaiba)


	13. Gapshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Gapshipping (Mai Valentine x Mokuba Kaiba)
> 
> I think my reasoning behind this name is pretty clear. CRADLE-ROBBER. However, if there is already a name for this ship, don’t be afraid to inform me.

**The Talk**

Kaiba had his fingers steepled before him. He sat on an armchair, though his posture was too stiff to allow him to sink into the cushions.

Mai sighed and set her drink on the coffee table. “Look, I get that you don’t approve of our relationship. But I like to think that I make Mokuba happy.”

Kaiba could begrudgingly admit that he’d never seen Mokuba smile so frequently in _years_. But there was one glaring problem.

“He’s twenty-two.”

Mai nodded slowly, already knowing where this was going.

“You’re thirty-four,” Kaiba continued.

Mai scoffed. “Ever so tactful. You don’t rub a lady’s age in her face.”

“That’s a twelve year age gap.”

Mai rolled her eyes. “As if I didn’t do the math myself.”

He sighed irritably through his nose. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Mai replied. “And so does Mokuba. I don’t think you realize how much it pains him. All he really wants is your approval.” She looked down into her drink, her voice quiet, “He’s miserable without it.”

Kaiba sighed again, though this time it was slow and frustrated. He rubbed his eyebrows. “Look, I’ll _stomach_ this, as long as you understand one thing…” He lifted his head and glared directly into her eyes. “If you break his heart, you will fall off the face of the earth. No one will see you. Ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Mai tried her best not to gulp. “Crystal.”

A few tense moments passed in silence, and Kaiba finally rested his back against the cushions, though his posture was not the least bit relaxed. Mokuba finally entered the room. He’d continued letting his hair grow out; it was now a wild cascade of black pouring over his back and down to his hips.

Mai smiled at him. Those lavender eyes twinkled back, and Mokuba gave her a toothy grin.

Kaiba relaxed back into his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about another super short one. Seto just kinda ended up writing himself into this. He does that all the time. I just can’t be mad at him about it, for some reason. Hat-kami, however, has decided to punish him for his sins…
> 
> Next Up: Toonshipping (Maximillion Pegasus/Pegasus Crawford x Seto Kaiba)


	14. Toonshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Toonshipping (Maximillion Pegasus/Pegasus Crawford x Seto Kaiba)
> 
> I don’t want to do this to my favorite character, but this is something I will relish greatly. That probably means that I’m some sort of sadist. Eh, I’ll worry about it at a later date.

**The Real Challenge**

Pegasus hid his grin behind his hair.

Seto Kaiba, in all manners, was very _feline_. Fickle. Demanding, yet aloof. A complete and utter _tsundere_. Though to many of these things the man in question would never admit.

Like when Pegasus’ sallow hand would caress Kaiba’s pale cheek. A stony scowl, a glare in the tic of his brows, but Kaiba would still leaned into the touch. Pegasus found it all so amusing. The younger man completely avoided human contact, and Pegasus discovered the reason…

Seto was incredibly susceptible to it. A few touches here and there -- the wrist, the shoulder, a brush of fingers -- and he was melting, so deprived of physical contact that any bit he unwillingly soaked up like a sponge. So the young man went out of his way to make sure none occurred.

Ah, but Pegasus was _persistent_. Each time, the real challenge was first contact. Kaiba absolutely refused handshakes. Kaiba would not take anything from his hands, so as to avoid the slightest brush of fingers. Their meeting today included lunch, and, at one point, Pegasus was tempted to play a little footsie under the table. But that would have been a little too… silly. And while Pegasus adored all things silly and whimsical, ‘silly’ just didn’t fit into their game of seduction.

Instead, Pegasus lifted the bottle of wine, eyebrow raised questioningly. Kaiba blinked, contemplative, and then slid his glass forward.

Pegasus remained, eyebrow winging up higher.

Blue eyes narrowed.

Pegasus blinked at him.

Kaiba rolled his eyes. He held the glass up.

 _There_.

Pegasus slid his other hand forward, grasped the one Kaiba had curled around the glass in the pretense of steadying it. He poured the wine into the glass and rubbed a thumb over Kaiba’s knuckles. Kaiba’s brows knotted, his lips pressed together thinly. But he didn’t try to pull his hand away, even as Pegasus set the bottle to the side. Pegasus shifted his hold to circle two fingers on Kaiba’s sensitive wrist. Seto visibly shivered.

Pegasus smirked, drew away. Kaiba slowly, dazedly withdrew with his glass, from which he took a shaky sip.

There. The hardest part was out of the way now.

The rest was a bike ride downhill.

* * *

The slender, strong fingers Pegasus so admired where buried deeply in his silky silver hair. Seto Kaiba’s kisses were strong and harsh, like a shot of absinthe, but Pegasus couldn’t help drinking directly from the font. It was addictive and dizzying, the way he knew the feel of Seto’s teeth just as well as his lips.

He hardly ever needed to pull away from such an engagement, but he did so to catch his ragged breath. Seto remained leaning close, tasting Pegasus’ breath, his face a prurient snarl.

“S-See…” Pegasus managed between pants, “I don’t understand why you resist so much when you always end up in my arms, anyway.”

Seto growled, tugged the silver tresses in his fists. “Shut up and kiss me, you old fool.”

It was no real challenge to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to completely gloss over the fact that Pegasus held Mokuba’s soul hostage. I don’t have the patience to work out that whole… ball of problems with just a oneshot. 
> 
> Also, I had a SEVERE MISCALCULATION. There are fifteen in this batch, not fourteen, so we have two more oneshots before I start reusing characters! 
> 
> Next Up: Exterminateshipping (Roland/Isono x Weevil Underwood/Insector Haga)


	15. Exterminateshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Exterminateshipping (Roland/Isono x Weevil Underwood/Insector Haga)
> 
> What the fresh hell? Yeah, I don’t really know, either. I thought I’d throw in Roland (Seto’s bodyguard, for those of you who don’t know) just for the hell of it. Uhhhhhh… how am I going to deal with this…? No clue. Let’s see where it goes. I guess.
> 
> It’s probably going to be short. Wtf am I supposed to do?

**Manhandled**

In all truth of the matter, it shouldn’t have surprised anyone that he showed up. Drunk, washed out, blue hair a matted mess. Glasses cracked. Just like his sanity it seemed.

Roland kept face impassive as he hefted the tiny man up. “You are not permitted to enter this far.”

Weevil Underwood hissed and spat like a feral cat. “I was the regional champion! I have _every_ right to enter this tournament!”

“That was five years ago,” Roland rumbled.

Weevil clawed at Roland’s arm, twice as thick as both of his put together. “I’ve kept my skills sharp!”

“I’m sure.” Roland continued carrying Weevil down the hallway by the back of his dirty jacket.

The tiny man slowly went slack. Roland frowned. Maybe he’d passed out into a drunken stupor. A squirm. No. He hadn’t.

“Hey.”

Roland grunted.

Weevil gripped his arm again, this time… gentle. His fingers rubbed sensuously. “I can… make it worth your while."

Roland immediately dropped him, and Weevil’s drunken grip couldn’t keep him attached. “Disgusting.”

Weevil crawled up to the larger man’s thigh, rubbed his cheek on the gray slacks. “Don’t be so sure.”

Roland sneered, kicked away the pest at his feet. He lifted the microphone of his earpiece to his mouth. “I need someone to come take care of some… vermin. Over.”

Weevil blinked up hazily at the lights on the ceiling. He curled up. And vomited on the floor.

“And maybe a clean-up crew. Over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE. And then we move on to another batch (since no one has requested anything, which is not completely unexpected at this moment in the game).
> 
> Next Up: Startleshipping (Bandit Keith/Keith Howard x Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki)


	16. Startleshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Startleshipping (Bandit Keith/Keith Howard x Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki)
> 
> I actually really like the concept of this ship. Maybe because I actually have a solid idea about what I want to do for this oneshot *chuckles sheepishly*.
> 
> AND SO, we will end this batch with a BANG. 
> 
> It should be noted the reasons I usually set Domino in the US. Most important of all, I am not confident enough in my abilities to write it in Japan. “Write what you know,” as they say, and I fear not doing Japanese culture justice. So, I normally place Domino City on the West Coast of the United States (that way I can at least add a healthy dose of Japanese influence), though I haven’t solidly decided a state. I hope you, the readers, understand and don’t mind.

**Daze**

The city lights blazed rebelliously into the night. “Bandit” Keith Howard kept his sunglasses on, if only to stave off the pounding headache making mincemeat of his brain. He would’ve groaned, if he didn’t know that it would feel like someone giving him an impromptu lobotomy with an icepick.

He squinted up at the blinking sign of a bar.

He’d always believed that the best cure for a hangover was to never get sober in the first place.

Ah, welcome to the life of a functional alcoholic.

He pushed open the door.

Soft jazz music echoed over the speakers, and Keith hummed gratefully. A classy, back alley lounge. Like something in a movie. Eh, it was New York. No surprise there, really. You can find just about anything in this damn city. He tugged off his bandana as he slumped into a bar stool. The red, white, and blue material wrinkled in his fist, and his other hand tiredly ruffled his frizzy blond hair.

“Hello, welcome to Leo’s Bar and Lounge,” the female bartender said politely.

Keith squinted. That voice sounded vaguely familiar. “How creative.”

“I didn’t name the bar.” She sure dropped the politeness fast.  “Would you like something to drink?”

“Uh, Hair of the Dog,” he muttered, “Thanks.” He looked up. And nearly swallowed his tongue.

It was Yugi Muto’s fangirl (Keith honestly didn’t remember her name, only her face). Her hair was a bit longer now, pulled back into but a low tuft of a short ponytail. Her face had lost quite a bit of the roundness of youth, and it made her blue eyes seem less round and more… sharp. By the cock of her brow, she clearly recognized him, too.

He didn’t say anything more. Just gulped and watched as she got to work on his “hangover cure.” With a thoughtful frown, he admired the sharp uniform Yugi Muto’s fangirl sported. A classy black vest over a white button-up blouse. A black bow tie and matching slacks completed the ensemble.

He glanced around. The male staff wore relatively similar outfits.

Nice.

She set the glass down on a black napkin in front of him. “Here you go, one Hair of the Dog.”

He grimaced up at her, plucked his sunglasses off. The darkness of them was irritating his eyes indoors. He took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

She smiled, turned to put all the ingredients back into their proper places.

He furrowed a brow. What was she doing here? Specifically New York City, less specifically the bar. Though he _was_ curious about that, too. He took a deep drink of his cocktail and grimaced at both the taste and his forgetfulness. Where was she from, anyways? Ugh, what was it called… He rubbed his brow. He went there. Once. Not that he remembered most of it.

“Domino!” he suddenly gasped out loud.

Yugi Muto’s fangirl looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked. Again with the fucking eyebrow.

“You’re from Domino. What are you doing all the way across the country?” he asked.

Her expression changed. Maybe it softened a little. It was hard to tell from that angle. Her blue eyes lowered. “I’m going to school here.”

“There’re plenty of decent colleges on the west coast. Why here?” he blurted.

She lifted a shoulder. “Juilliard's here.”

He whistled low. “Expensive.”

She laughed a little. “Yup. Which is why I’m working here.”

“So, you’re a dancer?” he murmured, tapped his fingers on the sides of his glass.

She nodded once. “Yup.”

“Huh.” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Well, good luck.”

Her smile was bright, genuine. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Thank you.”

Keith swallowed hard.

“You know, you aren’t quite so… unpleasant, anymore. I remember you being worse,” she mentioned, rather offhandedly.

“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Honestly, I was an asshole. Hard times will do wonders for your temperament.”

She gestured to his empty glass. “Would you like another?”

He looked down at it and blinked. “Ah, no. I’m good.”

* * *

“How was class today?” Keith asked, stirring whatever cocktail Tea had made to practice her mixology skills.

“It was okay. Tiring. Work?” Blue eyes keen, she watched him sip the drink.

“Same. Tiring,” he replied. “This is good.”

“Not too tart like last time?” she asked with a sheepish grimace.

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s pretty good.”

She smiled, relieved. “Awesome. But how is that project coming along? I know you said that the shipment with the parts was delayed a few weeks.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah. It was a bit of a hassle. Management still wanted the machine put together on time for prototype testing. We just barely had it all screwed together when the guy showed up to check on our progress.” He took a solid gulp of the cocktail. “You said that you’re preparing for a show, right?”

“Mm-hm.” She put away all of the ingredients and leaned against the counter behind her. Business was slow tonight. It was only five o’clock.

Keith set his elbow on the bartop and leaned his cheek on his knuckles. “When is that?”

“The seventh of next month. It’s less than two weeks away, and I don’t think most of the dancers are ready. _Especially_ the lead. She’s missed a ridiculous number of the rehearsals,” Tea muttered.

Keith chuckled. “You’re just mad that _you_ didn’t get lead.”

Tea sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I am. Jelissa…” she growled a little. “She just doesn’t _care_. She _never has_. Sure, she has seniority over me, but that doesn’t make her any better!”

“You’re the… uh, ‘understudy,’ right? If this chick drops, you get the part?”

Tea nodded.

“And this chick has a penchant for dropping at the last minute, right?”

“Yeah. It’s fucking ridiculous,” Tea hissed.

Keith’s eyebrows jumped up. “Spicy, Tea. Haven’t heard you swear before.”

Tea bristled. “Well, _yeah!_ I’m _pissed_. If Jelissa auditions for lead, she gets it. Every time. And what does she do? She fakes getting hurt or some shit because she can’t fucking handle the pressure and doesn’t want to put the work in. Don’t get me wrong, she’s talented, but talent isn’t going to get you anywhere if you don’t put any effort in to maintain it.” Tea rolled her eyes. “And the few times she _didn’t_ get lead when she auditioned for it, she bitched, and bitched, and _bitched_. I was tempted to kill her and just leave her body in a ditch somewhere. No one would report me even if they knew I did it.”

Keith blinked at her. That seemed like a lot of steam that came out at once. “Well, don’t do that. As totally badass as it would be.” He cracked the knuckles on his other hand with his thumb. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, and you’ve given me a lot more fuel for it, that maybe this is all on purpose on whoever the hell decides these things’ part.”

“Of course it’s on purpose. They’re not _accidentally_ picking her.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I mean, they pick her because she’ll bitch about it if they don’t. She’s not even going to pull through anyways. So it doesn’t matter in the end, because the people they _really_ want to do the female leads _end up_ doing the female leads. It’s a win-win. Felicia doesn’t bitch, and they get who they want.”

“Jelissa.”

“Whatever.”

Tea looked thoughtful, but sighed a little. “Maybe, but that sounds a little contrived. The simplest answer is that she’s blowing the director.”

Keith wagged his head thoughtfully. “There’s always that.”

* * *

In the dark of his living room, Keith frowned at the screen of his laptop.

**BUY TICKETS NOW**

_Click._

* * *

Elegant, her tiny feet glided across the stage. She flowed like silk in the wind, toes tipping in time with the fluttering piano. A chop of a violin, and her body matched the sudden turmoil. The raw emotion emanated from her frame. The sorrow, the _rage_. All so smooth, yet so rugged.

Her partner reached for her waist, and she twisted away from his grip, her face hard and stern.

Keith resisted the urge to whistle low. Ouch. Rejection.

 _Why_ was she originally the understudy?

Oh, yeah. Felicia was blowing the director.

Though it had taken more than a little bit of pride-swallowing to get there that night, Keith was enthralled by the music, by Tea’s sheer practised _skill._

Keith gulped, rubbed his forehead. _I’m such an idiot_. He was a washed-up nerd, nearly a decade her elder. And he had the audacity to even _dream_...

His calloused fingers curled tightly around the stems of the flowers in his lap.

* * *

Tea dabbed her sweat off with a towel backstage as soon as bows were over. She still felt shaky. She _never_ got used to going on stage. She smiled shakily at herself in the mirror.

“Tea!” Stacy, a stage tech, shouted into the lady’s dressing room.

“Yeah?” She looked over her shoulder.

A bouquet of red roses thrusted into her unsuspecting face.

“These are for you.”

Tea stepped up, dazedly held them in her hands. “Who are they from?”

Stacy shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. But he was wearing a stars-and-stripes tie.”

“Keith,” Tea breathed. Flowers in hand, she darted out of the room. “Thanks!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Stacy watched her go. “You’re… welcome.”

* * *

Keith could hardly swim through the sea of people. It seemed like everyone and their grandma was out in the lobby. He gritted his teeth.

He just wanted to leave. _Now_.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. He whirled.

Tea threw her arms -- one hand still clutching the flowers -- around him, buried her face in his chest. “Keith!”

“Woah. Hey there,” he replied, arms hesitantly banding around her.

“You came to see me dance,” she said, voice wobbling suspicious.

 _Oh god, please don’t be crying_.

She tipped her head up to look at him. Her mascara trickled down her cheeks in watery rivulets.

 _She’s crying_.

“No one’s come to see me dance,” she whispered brokenly.

His breath caught. “Ever…?”

She laughed wetly, and he felt his lip twitch up. “Just not here.” She looked a little sheepish. “I get it's not too big of a deal but…”

“Of course it's a big deal,” Keith assured, and he soothingly rubbed a hand on her lower back.

She tried to swipe the mascara off her face. “Sorry, I'm a sweaty, teary mess.”

He shrugged. He honestly didn't even notice. “I'm not complaining.”

Somewhat composed, though still streaked with black mascara, she gave him a hot glare. “You were just going to leave without saying anything.”

He grimaced, a little sheepish, too. “Uh, what gave me away?”

Tea played with his tie. “This. Stacy mentioned it.”

 _Dammit._ But he felt good about getting caught, as he stood there with Tea in his arms. “Doesn't mean that it _had_ to be me.”

Tea shrugged. “True, but you're the only person I know who would wear it.”

“Eh, guilty,” he admitted, and she giggled.

“Why?” she asked. “Why were you going to leave?”

Everything in his brain ground to a halt. _Shit_. He had no idea what to say or how to say it without revealing the truth. “Because… because…” _Because I don't have a snowball's chance in hell._

She giggled at him again, adjusted his tie to make up for messing with it. “It's fine. You don't have to explain. I'm just glad I caught you before you could leave.”

“Do you…” oh god, what was he asking… “Do you have a ride?”

She blinked. Yeah, Keith was a little stunned, too. “I was planning on taking the subway home.”

“I… uh… I could drive you home,” he muttered, frowning and looking over her shoulder.

“Really?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“That'd be _great_ ,” she said with an exaggerated groan. “I _hate_ using the subway this late.”

Surprised and pleased with her answer, he looked back at her. “Yeah, it's a little dangerous for a young woman like yourself.”

She shifted, and so did his hands on her waist. A torrid blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I-I need to go change first, though.”

 _Oh, god_ , Keith was blushing now, too. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I'll be waiting right here.”

“I'll be right back! Hold these!” she said, and she darted off through the thinning crowd.

For a moment, all Keith could hear was his heart roaring in his ears.

* * *

He slowed by the curb. “Here?”

“Yes, right here,” Tea confirmed.

He slid the car into park.

The silence was heavy, and the sheer weight of it made Keith's heart pound.

“Thank you… for everything,” Tea murmured. She shifted slightly to face him.

He turned his head. Those clear blue eyes were glassy with tears. “Don't thank me, Tea.”

Her trembling fingers laid over his hand where it rested on his thigh. Keith gulped, arm twitching. He could feel his calloused dragging on her soft skin as he laced their fingers together. He looked back over at her.

She was closer now, all but pressed up against the arm rest. “It means a lot to me.” He _saw_ her eyes move to his lips. “Keith…”

He leaned in, and his other hand came up to gently hold her cheek. When he could feel her breath on his face, he paused, looked into her eyes.

She cupped his cheek, fingers tightening around his, and leaned in.

Soft, and then gently mouthing. His hand moved back to thread through the hair at the nape of her neck. Even there, it was so thick, so soft. The angle was awkward, but they made it work; shift a little here, a little there, anything to keep their lips connected.

Kisses melted into kisses. She tasted like tears and water. He slowly withdrew, feathered a few more onto her lips. Her chin was rubbed a little red. “Sorry about the stubble.”

She laughed softly, rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. “It's okay. I actually kind of like it,” she murmured.

He smiled, leaned his forehead against hers. He wondered if he could freeze time right here, just until he could get his fill of this warmth.

“Tea…”

“Hm?”

“... When can I see you dance again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I don’t know about you guys, but I absolutely fell in love with this pairing along the way. 
> 
> Okayyyyy so I already drew some pairings so that I still have something to write for you guys. I feel like the next pairing is going to draw a lot of attention, and I think you'll see why…
> 
> Next Up: Puzzleshipping (Spirit of the Puzzle (Yami/Atem) x Yugi Muto)


	17. Puzzleshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Puzzleshipping (Yami/Atem/Spirit of the Puzzle x Yugi Muto)
> 
> It's actually hilarious to me that this one popped up. Just a little while ago, I was talking to my FFN and IRL bestie, Marie S Raven, about how I just… don't get this ship. Well, I get why OTHER people ship it… but I just DUN GETTIT.
> 
> I DUN GETTIT, FOLKS.
> 
> However, I decided that since this may be my one and only Puzzleshipping story, I'm gonna try to make it really damn steamy, okay? In other words, some smutty, tangy, citrusy stuff gonna be going down.
> 
> Also, the awkwardness of sharing a hormonal, teenaged body.

**Entangled**

They stepped away from the commotion. The duel disk on their arm slid back into its compact passive mode. Another victory to join the countless others under their belt. They played best when merged as one, and it almost always paid off.

Gratitude overwhelmed Yugi, for all the Spirit had done and helped him through, but he needn't say nor think it; he had but to _feel_ , and the Spirit would know. The emotion washed back upon him like the lapping of waves, and a smile played on their face.

Like a gentle embrace drawing away, the Spirit receded into the Puzzle. But traces of him remained, a shadow flickering in the back of his mind, a pleasant weight lingering in his gut. As long as Yugi was near the Puzzle, they were linked together like so many delicately entwined threads. It was a web too comfortable and familiar to easily withdraw himself from. So he didn't ever really try to.

He caressed a hand along the pointed belly of the Puzzle. The gold was warmed by his body heat.

A sigh rippled through his soul, and he wondered briefly whose it was. But it really didn't matter, did it?

* * *

Yugi avidly listened to the teacher.

“Of course, Mesopotamia is part of the Fertile Crescent, which also contains some of the eastern coast of the Mediterranean Sea and northern Egypt, specifically the Nile Delta…”

The Spirit, too, seemed attentive, though more passive and intrigued and less worried about getting it right on the test.

Sharing his mind and body with one so eager to learn was… actually kind of fun. And relaxing. No stress about grades or tests or getting grounded for said grades or tests. Just pure basking in the knowledge, soaking it into his very pores.

Just reveling.

* * *

Though the Spirit enjoyed learning, he didn't seem too keen on applying that knowledge after hours. Which left Yugi alone with the homework.

Which was fair, Yugi knew. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be learning all of this stuff, not the Spirit of the Puzzle.

But it was difficult on days like these. Without the other to help guide his attention, Yugi's mind, like any boy's his age, became easily clouded.

He was supposed to be doing algebra. But the numbers slipped from his mind like thieves into the night, and were replaced with flashes of sin. _Fleshly_ sins. Carnal and needy.

Yugi gritted his teeth and exasperatedly clenched a hand in his hair.

No, no, _no!_ Not now. Not… _now_. Not when… _he_ could sense it.

He took a deep breath, tried to focus his gaze on the variables and the radicals and the equations sprawled out before him, but his body stirred, _begging_ to be sated.

He'd managed to keep his hormones at bay before, at least until the Puzzle was stored in a drawer in his room and he could drown his lust in the hot spray of the shower.

God, he _hated_ his fucking hormones.

He bit his lip, brought his hands to the chain around his neck to lift the Puzzle away. As soon as his fingertips touched the warm metal, the Spirit was roused from his slumber.

Yugi inhaled sharply, and the second entity flooded his being. The Spirit’s sudden surprise washed over him. He _knew_. Yugi whimpered in embarrassment. “I’m sorry…” he mumbled.

A pause, and then gentle understanding filled him to the brim, took Yugi’s breath away. It was a slight relief, but he still grimaced sheepishly. He reflexively adjusted his pants, and he ripped his hand away before it could linger like it wanted to, like he normally let it.

A hot flash of arousal, and Yugi gasped sharply, his other hand tightened around the chain. He wasn’t sure whose it was, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t his.

His breath quickened, knuckles twitched. He brought his hand back down to the front of his pants, again. His other elbow moved to the desk, and he held his hot forehead in his hand. His fingers stroked over the material of his tight jeans. His breath caught in his throat, face hot as he awaited the Spirit’s reaction.

A rumbling purr of pleasure, _hunger_.

Yugi’s leg twitched, and he rubbed a little more firmly. He panted into his hand. He whimpered at the warmth coiling inside him. It felt the Spirit was rubbing up against his soul, entwining like two snakes. He sensed the Spirit more strongly as they drew closer together.

His hand moved of its own (the Spirit’s) accord, undoing the buckles on his belts seamlessly. A button, the zipper, and then the Spirit was moving his hand under his jeans to cup himself through his underwear. Yugi’s hips jerked forward, head whipping back. Heat washed through him, and he felt the first beads of sweat welling from his skin.

The pleasure echoed, a pleasure shared. They could _both_ feel it, and the thought made Yugi dizzy with lust, but uncertainty trickled in.

He’d always felt close to the Spirit… but was this _too_ close?

Reassurance spilled through their link, and Yugi could hear, and well as _feel_ the Spirit’s soft words of comfort. Desire coiled through him, the Spirit’s desire, and Yugi sank back into the torrid heat. The Spirit nudged that much closer, _that much closer_ to a complete merge of their consciousnesses.

Yugi gasped, licked his lips. Turning his face shyly, he tucked his hand under the waistband of his boxers. He was already so hot.

The Spirit fed him little images, little wishes, little fantasies. Lips feathering down his neck, slender fingers undoing the collar around his throat to mark the skin underneath. Hands slipping under his shirt to firmly grasp and palm at his flesh. Teeth scoring his earlobe.

Yugi arched, and his hand stuttered in its movement. “Yes…” he breathed out softly.

 _Closer_ , closer. They were bleeding together.

A kiss, the Spirit wanted to kiss him, and Yugi touched his other fingers to his trembling lips. Compelled, his tongue twined out, curled around the digit. The Spirit murmured, as delirious with pleasure as Yugi was, words of encouragement, adoration, _worship_. Yugi’s name was a chant in his own head, and it fluttered against the walls of his skull like wings against a cage.

Yugi lunged, and suddenly they were one.

Not only feeling one another’s pleasure, but sharing its experience wholly, equally. They touched their body faster, essences entwined so tightly one might worry they would never be able to disentangle. Their back drew tight as a bowstring. One hand, fingers still wet with saliva, clawed at the armrest on the desk chair. The utter _intimacy_ of the moment enchanted them.

No two beings could _ever_ be closer than this.

Hot, panting breaths fanned out into the air. The chair squeaked rhythmically with the canting of hips. Tighter, tighter, muscles and tendons bundled _tighter_. Toes curled to the point of delicious aches. The growing waves threatened to overwhelm them, and Yugi had half the mind to snatch a tissue from the box on the table.

A live wire, sparks, a fiery crescendo.

“Oh god!”

Release, their pleasure compounded, _expanded_.

They barely managed to catch the mess, as their body convulsed with ecstasy. Panting sighs, completely relaxing bliss. Their head tipped back, hand gently milking.

A hum rippled through them. _Yugi_ …

And they reveled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. My one Puzzleshipping story. I hope the… lime (I mean… it can’t really be a lemon… ehhhh… whatever…) was to your satisfaction! Marie-S-Raven and I joked that every one-way for Yugi had the possibility of becoming a two-way if he was wearing the Puzzle and that’s how this came about. (ADDED AO3 NOTE: after some snooping around in the Puzzleshipping stories on this site, I realized that this is a rather common theme. Meh. Whatever)
> 
> Next Up: Turretshipping (PaniK x Mokuba Kaiba)
> 
> *scratches head*


	18. Turretshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Turretshipping (PaniK x Mokuba Kaiba)  
> What the actual fuck. Not even a question. It’s a statement. What the actual fuck.   
> Okay, I clearly had to come up with a ship name for this (because what the actual fuck). PaniK’s dark castle thingymajig card, Mokuba’s propensity for getting kidnapped. Princesses locked away in towers. There, shipname explained. Aged-Up!Mokuba.  
> (What…)

**Think Twice Before Thinking Further**

It’d been far too long since PaniK was in the professional circuit. Whatever that little twerp had done to him at Duelist Kingdom left lasting scars. Mostly mental ones. He was actually in a coma for several weeks.

As soon as he came to, Pegasus fired him. Which was totally fine; he’d definitely been planning on quitting, anyways. PaniK was many things, but he was not a man who didn’t learn when he was given a thrashing. Both in card games and in his mind.

No more preying on people, he had vowed. No more mind games.

Mind games did not end well for PaniK.

(It should be noted that PaniK was now prone to great and lengthy mental tangents, and he often lost his train of thought, which also did not help in his endeavor of getting back into the professional Duel Monsters circuit.)

Finally, he dueled his way back to the professionals. It was a hard, grueling task. But he liked Duel Monsters well enough. So it was fun.

ANYWAYS, he finally made it to a tournament that was actually worth something: a KaibaCorp tournament.

He sat amongst the crowd at the tournament’s inception.

Beefy arms crossed, he watched the techs calmly work out whatever kinks were occurring on stage. (That was one noticeable difference between KaibaCorp Tournaments and literally _any_ other: the techs were serene and confident, even when everything was going to hell -- they knew what was wrong and they knew how to fix it. Without panicking. Heheh, ironic.)

A long slip of black caught his eye. Wild raven hair pooled down to slim hips in a low ponytail. The sable cascade warmly complemented his olive skin tone. Big, expressive eyes, and the cut of his suit accented his lanky build. He easily directed the commotion with suave passes of his hand.

He was a fine piece of eye candy. The slim, lanky types were exactly what drew PaniK's attention.

Thin but shapely lips. Dazzling smile. _Energy_.

PaniK liked energy. Energy was good. Energy could be… nicely directed.

PaniK sighed through his nose. Whatever. Nobody wanted a giant freak like him. A scary face and the body of Colossus. Honestly, it seemed like only nutjobs ever showed any interest in him. Which had its own perks, PaniK supposed.

Whatever happened, the techs got it taken care of, and the tournament began with a speech from none other than the dark-haired angel on stage.

“Wow, Mokuba Kaiba sure has grown up,” a young woman in front of PaniK murmured in wonder.

PaniK stiffened.

Mokuba… _Kaiba!_

He blanched, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

Dear god. PaniK just barely dodged a bullet, even if it was in his mind. He was sure if a man like Seto Kaiba found out that a man like PaniK even had an _inkling_ of attraction toward his little brother, he'd be stomped into gooey PaniK jam.

He shuddered.

Think twice before thinking further.

He refused to even _look_ at the announcer until the duels commenced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. I tried my best.  
> Heyyyy awesomeness happened and I received my first request!   
> Sooooo, Next Up: Ravenshipping (Vivian Wong x Mokuba Kaiba) vs Tuftshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Mokuba Kaiba)


	19. Ravenshipping vs Tuftshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship(s): Ravenshipping (Vivian Wong x Mokuba Kaiba) vs Tuftshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Mokuba Kaiba)
> 
> Several things must be noted before we get started. 
> 
> 1) I think I had to name Ravenshipping (they both have black [raven] hair, so good enough. There have been just as shallow shipnames). 2) MY FIRST REQUEST. WOOT. 3) Something I had previously never considered, the requester asked for a ship/love battle between Vivian Wong and an unknown character over Mokuba Kaiba. Hat-kami selected Rex Raptor. 4) Aged-up!Mokuba again. Ain’t no pedo shit up in here. 5) Vivan is officially added to the hat. 6) I have made the age gap between both Mokuba and Vivian and Mokuba and Rex three years.
> 
> Also, I decided that this would be connected to the Exterimateshipping (Roland/Isono x Weevil Underwood/Insector Haga) oneshot, and, could also fit in with the previous chapter.

**Vying for Affection**

Some kids just looked like they would never grow up. When he was thirteen, Mokuba was much the same way. Even he had suspicions of this thing called “growing up.” But when he turned fourteen, puberty hit like a fucking runaway freight train. His voice dropped what was probably a couple octaves. He grew a foot and a half taller in an astoundingly short amount of time. Suddenly, he was developing dense facial hair, and it seemed like he needed to eat twice as much as normal to sustain even that. (Seto was jealous of Mokuba’s beard-growing capabilities, though he never openly admitted it, but Mokuba could still tell.)

Well, long story short, within five years, he was looking very much _grown-up_. At nineteen, Mokuba won the title of “Domino’s Most Eligible Bachelor”, breaking Duke Devlin’s seemingly endless consecutive streak. So it shouldn’t have been _too much_ of a surprise that he was popular amongst the ladies.

Mokuba Kaiba was still _very much surprised_.

Girls stared. Girls giggled. Not too weird, until Mokuba was on the receiving end of said stares and giggles. And though he was shell-shocked and altogether uninterested, he learned how to handle it. Mokuba was nothing is not adaptive, and years of experience had taught him to roll with the punches. He became suave, smooth, charming (all the things his brother was not, the media was far too keen to point out).

So, in the end, it added up to Mokuba being very used to deflecting the interest of girls and the occasional guy.

… But…

Nothing like this.

Never like this.

* * *

“Ah, Mokuba Kaiba!” a feminine voice called.

He did not turn from where he was talking to some very important (rich) guests (Seto would hang him up by his ankles like a cut pig if he messed up their already shaky relations with stockholders [Seto’s fault]). But the old men were very clearly staring over his shoulder at whatever woman decided to approach them.

Mokuba glanced over his shoulder, his dark hair brushing his cheek from where it was pulled back into a loose braid.

Vivian Wong.

A red dress clung to her shapely body, just down to her mid-thigh. From there on, her long, slender legs stood on display, her feet tucked into what looked like dangerously thin-heeled stilettos.

Mokuba furrowed his brows. What did she want, and why wasn’t she harassing Yugi, who was also somewhere in the room?

“Hello, Vivian Wong,” he greeted, since it would’ve been too rude to simply turn away now.

She tittered behind one hand extended the other, knuckles proffered. One dark brow winged up, Mokuba accepted it (her hand was slender, dainty, and warm in his), pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles. He met her eyes. The cognac depths were curtained by long sable lashes and half-lowered eyelids. Glittering, smoldering.

“You’ve grown into a most handsome young man.”

Face hot, Mokuba pulled away. “Thanks, I guess.” He really didn’t think he was her type, though; maybe a little too tall (um, like a foot and three inches too tall).

She hummed, gave him a long up-and-down look. “My pleasure.”

If someone put an icecube to his cheek, he was sure it would’ve melted instantaneously.

* * *

Somehow, he managed to make his way to the other side of the large ballroom.

Rex Raptor was apparently in this tournament. He was just managing to claw his way back from the pits of disgrace, something that not many could not accomplish. (He had heard from Roland that a drunken Weevil Underwood had tried to… bribe his way onto the premises. Some disgraces stay disgraces.)

“Congratulations on your latest win,” Mokuba said with a warm, boyish smile.

The shorter man’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and he scratched the back of his neck.

Though, from what Mokuba remembered of Rex’s televised duels and interviews, the man never _blushed_ this much.

“Uh, thank you,” Rex mumbled. He pointedly avoided eye contact.

Mokuba resisted a sigh. He missed being a child. People generally didn’t lose all of their social skills and brain cells in his presence back then.

“So, uh, what’s it… it like, uh, working with someone like your brother?” Rex asked. His eyes flicked over Mokuba’s face.

Mokuba’s smile morphed into a wry grin. “It’s great. I love my brother. He’s the best at what he does, and I learn a lot from him.” He cupped a hand over his mouth, muttered from the corner of his lips, “Even if he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

A choked, nervous laugh, though Rex’s shoulders seemed less like a board and more like functional human anatomy. “Don’t let him catch you saying that.”

Mokuba waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, being an inconvenience to other people is a point of pride for Seto.”

Another chuckle, though less strained. “Yeah, I guess so. He keeps you busy?”

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “‘Busy’ is an understatement. I practically live on the road. I apparently make a better poster boy than he does.”

Glassy-eyed blink and a blush. “Def-definitely. You definitely do.”

* * *

He’d managed to get Rex to loosen up a little more when she came back around.

Where she used to display unabashed adoration (and even obsession), she now demonstrated a most svelte seduction. That dainty hand started at his bicep (squeezing subtly, not so subtly that he didn’t notice, that he didn’t preen at little at her obvious appreciation), climbed like an insidious ivy up his shoulder, until she was half-wrapped around him, leaning into him. Her breasts pushed into his arm, and he forced his eyes to stay glued to her smirking face.

So distracted by the physical contact, Mokuba didn’t notice the cutting glare those cognac eyes leveled a certain Rex Raptor.

“Mokuba-dear, dance with me?” she cooed, eyelashes fluttering.

Mokuba gulped, nodded.

She led him off to the dance floor.

Rex frowned into his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, short again. Sorry. I just realllly struggled with writing Vivian. Also, I got pretty busy write in the middle of the production of this oneshot. Excuses, excuses, I know, this isn’t an excuse factory. But it’s out, and it’s done.
> 
> Next Up: Retributionshipping (Alister/Amelda x Yami Bakura/Thief King Bakura)
> 
> My second request :3


	20. Retributionshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Retributionshipping (Amelda/Alister x Yami Bakura/Thief King Bakura)
> 
> Soooo someone on AO3 requested an Alister story due to an unfortunate lack of Alister-centric stories. He is now added to the hat. Of course, Bakura has the fucking Midas touch, so, as soon as he came into the equation, I fell in love with this ship. Name of this ship because it is what they both seek for their enemies. Retribution for perceived wrongdoings, yatta yatta. 
> 
> Aaaaand this turned into a lemon because Bakura just can't keep it in his pants, the bastard.

**Coping Mechanisms**

They met in a seedy bar.

Alister nursed his drink, something strong, something bitter, something heavy enough to wash it all away. He just so happened to turn his head to the side, to listlessly stare down the length of the bar. Long, wild silver hair spilled down like a river of mercury along broad, built shoulders. Alister teethed his lip, admired the muscular arms, like bands of steel.

A swing of the head, nearly beastial, and intense eyes, a smoky lavender, met his own. A wink - a flash of a bronzed eyelid over that mesmerizing purple-gray - and the glint of a toothy, feral grin.

Alister snapped forward, cheeks hot and red from alcohol and embarrassment (though the lines between the two were ever blurred lately). He sneered, cursed himself, agitatedly swirled the liquid in his glass. Ogling random men like that could get you beaten, bruised, and bloodied in some alleyway.

No more public drinking for Alister.

He slammed back his drink. His last one for the night.

Or so he planned.

The bartender set a glass in front of him. Red liquid gleamed from within like an aqueous ruby.

He stared up with a squint.

She cocked her head to the side. "From the long-haired gentleman at the other end of the bar."

He glanced over.

The other man was leaning his elbow on the counter, had his body facing Alister now. The man smirked. A scar dragged down his tanned face from his right eye.

Strong, rugged, wild.

Alister shivered, hot, thrumming with nerves and attraction.

He lifted his glass up in a playful toast, lips tilting into a grin. Gazing into the other man's eyes, he took a deep drink. It was surprisingly sweet, though the alcohol was strong and gave quite the punch.

The silver-haired man licked his smirking white teeth, like some hungry animal.

Alister blushed again. If that man was a beast on the prowl, Alister wouldn't mind being his prey.

He faced forward again, took another deep drink.

The stool next to him creaked.

He caught a whiff of a spicy cologne and a musk that was purely  _masculine_. He turned his head. Lavender eyes glistened with alcohol and lust.

Alister's lungs forgot how to function.

"Thanks for the drink," he said, voice surprisingly firm.

The man chuckled, a low, predatory sound. "Why, you're welcome." Silver eyebrows arched with all the tension of a nocked bow. "You were…" he leaned in, and Alister could see in explicit detail the ripples of his irises and the wrinkles of flesh along his jagged scar "... looking a little thirsty." His voice was sharp, cunning, rough. It tickled Alister's nerves in all the right ways.

Just from hearing this stranger's voice, Alister knew he was going to be all but ruined.

He knocked the glass back and finished the drink. He slammed the glass back onto the bartop and looked at the other man with a grin. Those darkening eyes watched him raptly. "Was I now?"

Another chuckle. Alister's stomach clenched, and a low warmth pooled in his belly.

"Mm, yes, I'd say you most definitely did." His hand, long-fingered but still so thick and strong, wrapped around the glass and brought it to his lips. His tongue darted out, a flash of red flesh, and rolled along the rim of the glass, right where Alister's lips had been but twenty seconds before. A purring hum. "Sweet."

Alister hoped this mystery man didn't notice how shallow his breath was becoming, but he knew those sharp eyes were taking in all he had to offer. "Do you buy a lot of men drinks?" he found himself saying.

A roll of a muscular shoulder. "Not particularly." The predatory shadow never left his chiseled face. "Not many men can catch the eye as well as you."

God, he probably said that to all of his conquests, but fuck if it wasn't working. Alister blamed that rough, cunning voice.

The man was a snake.

"I don't think I'm much to look at," Alister replied, and he said his next words before he could convince himself otherwise, "Not like you."

"Yes?" Those serpentine lips simpered. "Well, let me tell you a little something." He leaned close -  _closer_  - and his gin-stained breath rasped along Alister's sensitive skin. "Your hair…" Hot, callused fingers brushed the red locks at the nape of Alister's neck. "... shines like rubies." The fingertips didn't draw away, no, they traced circles on the goosebumps raising Alister's pale flesh. "And do you know what I do with rubies?" he asked.

Alister, so entranced by those gray-purple eyes, could barely gather enough wits to shake his head. A snarl, a clenching of the fingers in Alister's hair. Alister gasped, spasmed, his hands whipping to the man's firm chest.

Those lavender eyes were burning. "I  _take_ them." His tight grip faded until he was languidly tracing flesh again. But they remained close, noses brushing, Alistair's hands shaking over the dark fabric of the other man's shirt. "What's your name, little red gem?"

Those eyes could compel him to say anything, answer any question without even a thought given to deceit. "Al-Alister."

"Alister," the man repeated, palm warm on the back of Alister's neck. "Call me Bakura."

"Bakura," he whispered, hands sliding up to grip at strong shoulders. Hard muscle resisted the pressure of his grasping fingers. He melted a little more.

Who'd have thought he'd be conquered by some flirtatious words and little hands-on contact? Not him. Not in a million years.

"Very good," Bakura purred. "Did you know that rubies are rarer than diamonds, than silver, than gold?" Alister was hanging on the edge of his own stool, all but in Bakura's lap now. "They're difficult to find, but when people do, they normally cut them, polish them, set them in some shiny metal band or bauble." He smirked, though Alister could only tell by the warping of the scar and the crinkling of Bakura's eyes. "That's how I usually find them. And it usually makes them easier to sell." His fingers tightened again. "But, with the one I have right now, I don't care much for where it is…" His lips brushed Alister's burning red ear. "... because I want it in my bed, tangled in my sheets with me. Do you understand?"

Alister came here tonight to wash away his problems with some cheap booze. But… this definitely seemed like a just as effective (and much more tempting,  _satisfying_ ) option.

"Y-Yes," he whimpered, gripping hard at those broad shoulders. "I understand."

"Mm, do you want it, Red? Want to be in my bed?" Bakura's lips were now hovering once again over Alister's own.

Alister nodded, the slight bit he could in his position. "Fuck, I want it."

Like nothing else. Being possessed by this man was a sin he never realized he wanted to commit.

"Did you drive here?" Bakura asked, drawing away.

"No, didn't plan on driving myself home," Alister replied, body aching at the loss of the other man's touch.

"Planned on getting shit-faced? Or having a stranger take you home?" Bakura waggled his silver eyebrows. "Maybe both?"

Alister tried to take deep breaths, tried to compose himself. He noticed the area around then was completely void of people, and his cheeks burned. Even the bartender had ignored them. "Just the first one. Though the second is a viable option now."

A toothy grin. Those canine teeth looked sharp enough to cut. "Glad I convinced you."

Alister looked at the glass in front of them. He thought of Bakura's tongue.

"Did  _you_  drive here?" Alister countered.

A chortle. "No. I was going to get… drunk as well."

Alister hummed, felt a moment of bravery. He set his hand on Bakura's knee, idly traced his thumb on the inside. "How are we getting out of here, then?"

Smoky purple flared with carnal desire, ever hotter. "I live not too far from here. A short walk. A couple of blocks." He stood, and the motion made Alister's hand slide up his thigh. "How much did you drink?" he asked, thumbing open a distressed leather wallet.

Alister was distracted by those strong, defined hands. He blinked. "Just what you got me and the two I had before that. Why?"

Bakura slapped a bill on the counter and tucked it underneath Alister's glass. "Because I'm paying for them."

Alister wouldn't say no to free drinks. "Thanks," he murmured, looking up as Bakura moved to stand between his knees.

"Well, Red? Are you going to get up and join me or am I going to have to carry you out?" Bakura growled, calloused fingertips brushing Alister's chin.

Alister said nothing, only stood. He and Bakura were chest-to-chest, and it surprised him that they were damn near the same height. Bakura's predatory aura simply made him  _seem_  much larger.

Bakura tilted his head, nuzzled Alister's neck momentarily. The brush of lips on his flesh sent a shiver through him. The scrape of teeth. "Damn, you look good enough to eat." He pulled away, set a hand on the small of Alister's back, and guided him out of the bar.

The chill of night air helped cool the heat in Alister's cheek, though Bakura's hand, hot even through the fabric of Alister's jacket and shirt, kept the fire stoked in his belly. He let Bakura lead them, trusted in the other man's intentions, and in his own skills if things were to go south.

While they waited at a crosswalk, Bakura suddenly tugged Alister close and tucked him into his side. His lips skimmed Alister's ear with each motion. "I'm tempted to drag you into an alleyway and have my wicked way with you there." His hand slid down, over the curve of Alister's ass, and  _squeezed_. "But I find myself wanting to take my time with you."

Alister imagined it, pinned against some brick wall in the sickly glow of some alleyway light, rutting like animals. Heat speared through him, breathless.

Alister reciprocated the heated touch, and the sensation of Bakura's firm buttocks in his hand nearly had his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. "Patience is a virtue," he hissed back.

A throaty chuckle rasped Alister's eardrum, and Bakura gave him another tight fondle. "I am by no means virtuous."

Alister's palm slipped up, under Bakura's shirt. The man's back was sculpted and smooth and hot. "You don't need to tell me."

Bakura hummed, and his warm touch moved back up to the small of Alister's back. They quickly crossed the street.

The walk felt like an eternity to Alister, who ached both inside and out with anticipation. But fortunate enough, they finally made it to a crowded apartment building. Bakura buzzed them in, and soon they were clattering up the stairs. Three flights up, all the way at the end of the hall, they stopped, and Bakura dug a key out of his pocket. Alister, feeling daring and so fucking  _desirable_ , pressed himself against Bakura's strong back as he fiddled with the lock on the door. Alister caressed over the front of Bakura's dark jeans and playfully palmed the resistance he felt there.

 _Thump_ , Bakura's forehead hit the door. "Eager, are we?" He rasped before cursing at the damn lock. He apparently had problems before with it.

Alister chuckled, stroked with salacious intent. "It's only fair. You've had your hands all over me. It's about time I got my turn."

Finally a click. "I'm going to fucking give it to you," Bakura growled, all but kicking the door down.

Alister realized that that line could've been addressed to either him or the door, but he fancied that he was the intended recipient.

Bakura dragged him into his dwelling. The door slammed shut behind them.

The air whooshed from Alister's lungs when Bakura lunged at him, pinned him to the entryway wall. A sneering, animal smile, and the swaying of Bakura's head reminded him of a cobra ready to strike.

Alister's knees were weak.

"Take your shoes off," he growled, one hand on the wall by Alister's side, the other by his head.

Alister grabbed onto Bakura's shoulders, toed his shoes off, and Bakura did the same. Bakura surged forward, hips and chest slamming Alister farther back against the wall.

Alister could  _feel_ Bakura's desire, and he had no doubt Bakura could feel his in return.

Alister moved his arms, wrapped them around Bakura's neck. Their noses brushed, their alcohol-tinged breath mixing between them.

Finally a kiss.

Bakura had a kiss like fire; hot, consuming, leaving only ashes and ruins behind. Lips, tongue, teeth, they devoured Alister right where he stood. Alister tangled his fingers into that wild silver hair, tugged it, pressed himself into Bakura until Bakura's belt buckle bit into his stomach.

"F-Fuck," Alister gasped when teeth scored his neck in hungry bites. "Bakura."

Those strong hands he'd been admiring all night grasped hard at Alister's hips. Then Bakura snapped their pelvises together.  _Hard._

Alister's head whipped back, thunking against the wall. His moan was long and low, scraped out of his throat.

Bakura snarled, teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, Red?"

Alister growled back, caught Bakura's shapely bottom lip between his teeth.

He earned a moan for his efforts.

He released the other man, shoved him back.

Bakura made a noise of surprise, slightly miffed, but Alister hardly paid attention. He was tearing his jacket off, lifting his shirt over his head and casting it aside.

He glanced up.

Smoky lavender, burning and lustful, perused Alister's bare skin.

A hot breath, and then Alister was advancing. Leaned close to Bakura's face and twisted the hem of his shirt in one pale fist.

"Well, am I going to be the only one taking my clothes off or do you care to join me?" He asked, teeth brushing Bakura's lips as he spoke.

A snarl, and the dark material was falling to the floor, forgotten.

Oh god. Those abs  _had_  to have been sculpted by some divine entity. There was no other explanation.

Alister's knees nearly buckled, but he hunkered down anyway, painted that bronze flesh with his lips and tongue. He nearly reached a complete kneel when a hand in his hair and a hand on his arm hauled him back up.

He made a noise of disappointment. "Hey, I was just getting to the fun part."

Bakura grinned tensely. His half-lidded gaze made Alister's breath still in his throat.

"Hm, we'll get to  _the fun part_ , little Red," he husked, palming the front of Alister's pants. "I just want a little relocation." He clenched a hand in Alister's hair and arched him against his body. "I just want to see your pretty ruby hair spread out on my pillows, yeah?"

Alister's response was a harsh kiss.

Bakura's hot hands groped over Alister's bare torso, cupped his ass, squeezed the back of his thighs, and then they were separated and aching, and Bakura was dragging him down the short entryway hall and to an ajar door.

They barely crossed the threshold before Bakura was yanking Alister's pants down his thighs. "I wanna  _fuck_  you," Bakura hissed.

Alister balanced himself on a dresser, kicked his pants off the rest of the way. "Yes, yes…"

The rest of their clothes fell away, and Bakura all but tossed Alister onto the clean, tucked sheets. He descended upon the ruby in his bed like a hurricane upon the shore. Alister fisted that wild silver hair as teeth marked down his body.

And then Bakura was devouring him whole.

Alister's back arched to the point of pain, delicious,  _delicious_ pain.

And he thought Bakura's kisses were good. Those dark eyes pierced him from where they lurked between his legs, that scar warped from Bakura's lascivious smirk.

A finger, wet and slippery, prodded him. He gasped, moaned, spread his legs a little wider.

Oh, god, it'd been too long.

"Bakura…" He keened, pressed himself into the other man's sinful touch.

Bakura worked him open, one finger at a time. That devilish mouth never left him, and Alister alternated between gripping at that wild silver hair and the increasingly disheveled sheets. He could only gasp and moan warbled versions of Bakura's name as his vision swam.

"G-God, just fuck me already," he gasped out, writhing, thighs jumping with each thrust and bob. "Y-You said you would, you bastard."

That wet heat left, and Bakura was crawling back up his body. He snagged a handful of vivid red hair and wrenched Alister's head to the side. "Impatient much?" He snarled into Alister's ear. "You'll get it when I'm good and ready, little Red."

Alister hissed through the stinging in his scalp. He fought against the pain to turn his head and set his teeth against Bakura's jaw. He growled the other man's name against his flesh. " _Get ready_  sooner." His long legs hooked around Bakura's cut waist. He couldn't help humping against the other man.

A heated kiss, all hot breaths and tangling tongues.

Bakura tasted like  _him_.

The wrinkling and tearing of foil dragged his attention away from the searing lips gnawing down his throat.

Then there was pressure, wet and hot and intense. Bakura's heat filled him to the brim.

"Fuck me, fuck me," Alister chanted, tightening his legs around Bakura, tugging him closer and  _deeper._  The twinge of discomfort was completely ignored in favor of the awaiting pleasure.

Bakura's breaths left in choked gasps against Alister's flushed neck. "I am, Red, fucking hell…"

"No, you aren't," Alister hissed, teething Bakura's lips. "Move, Bakura," he panted, "I need you."

A strong hand returned to his hair, tugged to the edge of pain.

And then Bakura snapped his hips.

Alister recoiled, gasping, one hand whipping up to grip the headboard with white knuckles. The pace was harsh, brutal, demanding, everything Alister had hoped to it be and so much more. Bakura was an animal between his thighs, teeth flashing and moans growling and nails scoring Alister's pale flesh as he rocked him into the mattress. Breathless, Alister could hardly moan, could only hold on for dear life and try his best to bounce himself into Bakura's violent thrusts.

Bakura's hard muscles flexed and undulated against Alister's slender, pliant, writhing body. Sweat, they were slicked with sweat, masculine and musky, all enough to make Alister's toes curl to the point of delicious cramps. The angle was just perfect, and, delirious, Alister's vision blurred until he could only see bronze, silver, and that flashing lavender.

He whispered things, things he wouldn't comprehend until later -  _yes, yes, fuck me, Bakura, yes, yes_ \- things between gasping breaths as he was fucked until he ached.

Bakura said nothing now, though his throaty moans and growling grunts were stimulating enough. The sounds he made drowned out the rapid, rhythmic banging of the headboard against the wall.

Alister was falling apart at the seams; his head tossed and thrashed on the pillow, his hair sweaty and disheveled beyond repair, tears of overstimulation trekking along his flushed sheets, and his fingers desperately clawing at Bakura's sweaty back for some kind, any kind, of purchase.

"C'mon, little Red, fucking come for me," Bakura snarled, a tangle of tongue and teeth at his ear, a tight fist in ruby red hair. "Fucking give it to me."

His body wouldn't let him disobey; he shattered, hips stuttering and bucking wildly, head whipped back so hard he could've sworn his neck popped.

A perfect ending to the night, Alister thought heatedly.

But he soon found out Bakura was hardly done with him.

* * *

A week later found Alister at that same seedy bar. He cursed himself again and again.

A call from Bakura's job awoke them, and the other man was getting dressed and ready before Alister had even crawled from the disheveled mess of sheets.

They hadn't thought to exchange contact information.

Alister sneered and chastised himself.

 _That was the point,_ he had to remind himself. It was a one night stand, nothing more, nothing less.

Oh, but what a hell of a one night stand. Alister still ached from the brutal pounding Bakura had given him.

Alister, elbows on the counter, held his face in his hands.

He should just leave. Bakura probably wouldn't show up, anyway, and if he did, there was no way he would want seconds (or fifths, more realistically, since Bakura had stopped no where near their first time that night).

A man like that could have anyone he wanted, so he probably didn't have a need for repeats.

He was digging his hand in his coat pocket for his wallet when he heard that cunning voice next to him.

"I don't mean to bother you, fellow patron, but I was wondering if you happened to see a pretty little ruby around here somewhere?"

Alister whirled.

Smoky lavender eyes sparkled with a salacious smirk.

"I seemed to have lost mine, you see," Bakura continued, leaning against the counter. "Last time I saw it, it was panting and crying my name. I don't know if that helps you at all."

Alister's grin could've split his face.

"I'll help you find it under one condition…" Alister said.

Bakura arched an eyebrow.

"Let me buy you a drink first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cha-ching! Second request done! I guess this is sort of an AU, but I'll leave the more specific details up to your imagination.
> 
> Up Next: Minorshipping (Duke Devlin/Ryuji Otogi x Ryou Bakura)


	21. Minorshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Minorshipping (Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi x Ryou Bakura)

Every time he saw Ryou Bakura, Duke Devlin thought of Pygmalion. Times like this. Times they (Yugi and company, including Duke, now) went to the beach.

The sun was bright and a little too enthusiastic, and its rays glimmered on the salty waves and fine sand. The water bobbed happily under that burning attention. The air smelled heavily of brines and spray-on tanning lotion.

Tea shook a blue bottle of the stuff and sprayed a heavy coating onto Ryou's pale back. The lotion made it glisten. Tristan dramatically covered his eyes. "Damn, Bakura! You're so white it's blinding!"

Ryou chuckled sheepishly, cheeks red. "Yup."

Tea rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up." She helped Ryou rub the lotion into his back. "You're still going to get toasted, you know."

Ryou laughed. "Well, it's a chance I'm willing to take. I can't leave all the fun to you guys, can I?"

Duke was barely listening to the conversation: he was watching Tea's hands smooth over Ryou's back like a sculptor's along clay.

Ryou, from his head to his toes, looked like he was carved from the whitest marble. Duke guessed that under that sparse mascara, even Ryou's eyelashes were snowy white.

Yes, Duke thought of Pygmalion.

Pygmalion; who made a sculpture so beautiful, even he, in all his hatred of others, could not resist its charms; who fell in love with his own creation of ivory; who prayed to the gods until his art became flesh.

For what sculptor wouldn't adore that lovely neck - swanlike in its grace - those gently bowed lips carve and shaped with such care? Yes, it was a loving hand that crafted such a masterpiece. Duke wondered what artist wished Ryou into flesh and blood, whose poor heart was so besotted by such a perfect, untouchable being.

"Woah, who is a droolin' mongrel now, Dukie?" Joey snickered, elbowing the other boy. "Need a napkin? You're making quite the mess of yourself."

Duke whipped a can of sun-tan lotion at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Fossilshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Bonz/"Ghost" Kazuka)


	22. Fossilshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, a Museum AU. Which I don't think I've ever read before, much less written. But I thought it was perfect. (Also, how could I not? It's called FOSSILshipping)

**Nerds, the Lot of You**

Bonz walked swiftly down the polished hallway. Under- and backlighting casted the exhibit alcoves in warm light. Replicas of beasts stood frozen amongst plastic and fabric plants, like three dimensional freeze-frames of time itself.

The creatures became more and more foreign, more and more strange; Bonz was walking backwards through time. Eventually, he was amongst the avian denizens of the falsely-labelled "Age of Reptiles" (falsely-labelled, he knew, because a certain coworker ranted on about the subject without end or respite).

And, in the Jurassic Gallery, there stood none other than the ranter in question, "Rex Raptor" Ryuzaki.

The short man (though taller than Bonz himself) stood with his arms crossed. He glared at Tristan, the museum's fabrication specialist.

"You have it all wrong, nitwit!" Rex snapped, jabbing a finger at the replica of an immense sauropod skeleton that stretched the full length of the gallery. "Apatosaurus could _not_ lift its neck at that angle! I'd like to see _your_ neck muscles strain trying to do it!"

Tristan lifted his hands. "Look, I just filled out the specifications given to me by your department."

"My department!" Rex growled, palming his face. "I leave for a month and everything goes to hell!"

Tristan seemed genuinely contrite. "Look, I'm sorry, dude. I was just filling out the specifications."

Rex sighed, adjusted his trademark beanie. "Yeah, I get it. Just… tell Interior Design that this is unacceptable."

"Will do." The fabricator trotted off.

Bonz chortled. "Was the dig fun, at least?"

Rex whipped around, surprised. He gathered his composure rather quickly. "Yeah, actually. The ankylosaurus skeleton we uncovered was nearly complete."

"Nearly?"

Rex shrugged. "Some scavengers had picked at it a little. Dragged the smaller bones off. Not unexpected."

"Huh," was all of Bonz's response. With the human skeletons he worked with, he often didn't have that difficulty; human burial processes allowed for complete skeletal preservation.

Speaking of human skeletons…

"Hey, I actually need your help on some pre-human fossils that were brought in a couple of weeks ago."

"Ugghhh," Rex groaned. "I hate pre-humans."

"Just because they aren't dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs are _way_ cooler than pre-humans. They are the rock stars of ancient animals."

"Heheh, _rock_ stars."

"Jesus, shut the fuck up, Bonz!" Rex snapped, although his shoulders shook with restrained laughter.

"I know you 'hate' pre-humans, but you're the best paleontologist we've got."

"Uh-hoh. Be careful there. My ego might swell." Rex adjusted his beanie. "Well, since you keep sweet-talking me, let's get to work."

* * *

"Huh, the distal and middle phalange on L5 and L4 are missing, but there's some remodeling on the proximal phalanges," Rex said. "The damage suggests that they were cut off… amputated. I'm not sure if it were accidental or intentional."

Bonz moved closer, inspected the fossils. "Based on what I've seen in later human remains, I'd say it was intentional. Maybe not medical, but definitely intentional."

"Huh." Rex scratched his head. "Either way, that's pretty big news."

"Indeed," Bonz replied, breathless.

"What are you two dweebs working on?"

The pair looked over. "Weevil" Haga Underwood stood behind them, peering over their shoulders.

He could sneak up like any creepy crawly.

Rex rolled his eyes. "Some pre-human remains."

Weevil pushed his glasses up. "I thought you hate pre-humans."

Bonz snickered. "He does."

Rex elbowed him. "This guy over here bribed me into it."

Weevil stared at him drolly. "If someone pays you half a compliment, they can bribe you into anything."

Rex pouted. “Now that’s just not true.”

Bonz laughed, but gestured to the remains on the table. “We think this guy here suffered intentional digital amputation.”

Weevil winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch. What great input. Get the fuck out of here, Weevil, we’re trying to work,” Rex grumbled.

Weevil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right, okay. Like Bonz even needed your help. This is just a complicated mating ritual you two do all the time. Fucking weirdoes.” And then he was stomping off in all his fake anger. “And I had the audacity to miss you, bone-brain!”

Rex tried to shrug off his burning cheeks, and he refused to look at Bonz as he turned back to the fossils before them.

They worked in silence a bit longer, until Bonz quietly interrupted it.

“I really missed you as well, Rex,” Bonz murmured.

Rex gulped, then, hesitantly, set a hand on Bonz’s shoulder. “I… missed you, too.”

When Bonz leaned into the touch, Rex gently squeezed.

They went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Rex is a paleontologist, Bonz is an anthropologist, Weevil is an entomologist, and the Egyptology department is severely over-staffed.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!  
> Next Up: Cheershipping (Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi x Serenity Wheeler/Shizuka Kawai


	23. Cheershipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Cheershipping (Ryuuji Otogi/Duke Devlin x Shizuka Kawai/Serenity Wheeler)  
> Yayyyyyy my third request!

**Roll the Dice**

Serenity Wheeler was not like any girl that Duke Devlin had ever dated. None of the batting lashes, the coy tosses of hair, the tittering behind hands with painted nails.

She was free, easy, open, natural.

At this massive amusement park – _not_ KaibaLand, thank you very much – her glittering hazel eyes were focused on the towering networks of wood and steel, the soaring and roaring carts and coasters.

Her delicate hand pinched his elbow. “Duke!” She pointed. “I want to ride that one next! What do you say?”

Duke turned his head and gulped.

The Altitude. It was the highest rollercoaster in the state – and it wasn’t at KaibaLand! Finally, something bigger than Seto Kaiba’s Ego (though Devlin’s wasn’t much better) – and even from where they stood, they could hear the screams of terror and delight roaring from the people seated in the carts.

A cold sweat prickled at his neck, but he still managed a suave grin. “As you wish.”

Serenity only laughed and tugged on his arm. “C’mon then, let’s go!”

They ventured through the heat-heavy air, the sun pounding on their backs, to get to the entrance. The line was incredibly, made up of easily three dozen people, but Duke’s VIP pass let them hop straight ahead in line.

He bit back a grimace. Perhaps this would be the one time he cursed his affluence. The extra time to mentally prepare himself would have been more than welcome.

Alas, the revelers were rushing back onto the docking platform. Pale and flushed, terrified and delighted. The attendants came through, and with bored, practiced grace, unbuckled the restraints and bid their customers farewell with a monotonous “I hope you enjoyed the ride.” Duke frowned as the former-passengers stumbled off the platform with wobbly legs. They looked like newborn deer.

In less than fifteen minutes Duke would hopefully be just like them –

– “hopefully,” because Duke Devlin seriously questioned if he would survive that long. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth.

Optimism. He had to remember _optimism_.

Next to him, Serenity thrummed with excitement. She was practically bouncing in place. “I _love_ rollercoasters!” she all but squealed.

She was adorable. Duke found himself grinning, but still the thought lurked; _Well, that makes one of us_.

It seemed like Duke’s vision was swimming when they were finally making their way to seats. Every instinct in him screamed for flight, but Serenity’s firm-but-gentle grip on his wrist propelled him forward. Serenity, in all her childish, precious haste, managed to nab them the very first seats. _The very first seats_.

You know, so Duke could see his death coming, maybe?

But still he managed a smile, almost a grimace as she herded him into a seat.

“Jeez, why are you so tense?” She playfully poked his bicep as she climbed in next to him. He’d say her finger bounced off because of how stiff his arm was, but that would have required a little give in the first place.

“Tense? I’m not _tense_ ,” he said, nearly too frantic and high-pitched to be convincing.

Well, convincing for anyone else but Serenity Wheeler.

Her jaw dropped, her lips parted. “Oh my gosh, are you _scared?_ ”

“ _No_ ,” Duke gritted out, long. “I am not _scared_.” His blush threatened to melt his face off his skull, but he firmly crossed his arms.

Serenity laughed, bright and loud and _finally_ unrestrained and edging on obnoxious. Right then and there, her relation to that mutt Joseph Wheeler was all too clear, but at least Serenity’s laugh was charming. And cute. And just plain lovely.

Even if it was at Duke’s expense.

But no, when her eyes opened, they twinkled with mirth and fondness. No mockery.

Green eyes blinked at her.

“You have nothing to be afraid of!” She said as the attendants buckled them in. “They’d never let people on this ride if it were _dangerous_. Not unless they want lawsuits up the wazoo!”

“That doesn’t mean anything won’t go wrong!” He hissed back. “There are far too many variables, and with all the individual chances that something could malfunction – I just can’t trust those odds!”

Serenity laughed again, as if purely delighted by his antics. Then, she leveled him a solid stare with glittering hazel eyes. “I just we’re going to have to… roll the dice.”

He stared at her, and then an attendant was announcing over the speakers to keep all limbs inside the vehicle at all times.

And Duke Devlin couldn’t help but scoff. _As if_ he could relax his muscles enough to scratch his neck, let alone extend his legs out of the cart.

Serenity wrinkled her nose at him and snickered, and then with the slightest jerk that made him gasp dramatically, they were ticking forward.

“Hey,” Serenity said, nudging him with her elbow. “At least if you die, we’ll go together, huh?”

“ _That’s_ reassuring,” he mumbled, but, once again, a genuine smile had crept onto his face.

The following experience was nowhere near fun – in fact, Duke was certain that he lost at least a decade on his lifespan and gained a few gray hairs – but maybe hearing Serenity whoop and giggle and squeal in delight made it all worth it.

Serenity was just as wobbly as he was when they stumbled away from the docking platform.

“Oh my gosh, that was _so_ fun!” She giggled, drunk on adrenaline.

Duke’s stomach was still trying to climb up from where it had sunk to his feet.

Serenity wrapped herself around his arm, pressed her cheek to his bicep.

God damn, he was a sucker for her eyes.

“We should go again!” she breathed, still panting.

She was so damn cute, but the answer was still – “Absolutely not.”

(Meanwhile, the next day, Duke would find bruising all up his forearms from how hard he gripped the metal safety bars on the cart.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. Short but sweet. What I seem to be good at with these things. I didn’t plan on Duke being afraid of rollercoasters – that just kinda happened on its own. But hey, I think it turned out well! Also, fun fact, my mom once broke the Shivering Timbers rollercoaster at Michigan’s Adventures because of how hard she gripped the safety bar (but she also had biceps as big around as my waist way back then).  
> Next Up: Dripshipping (Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki x Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki)


	24. Dripshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Dripshipping (Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki x Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki)  
> I think I might like this ship. I actually really like Mako as a character, so I noticed I like the idea of him with just about anyone.

**Aesthetics**

Okay, Tea Gardner was by no means  _ shallow _ . She liked  _ substance _ in a guy. Good humor, a kind heart, honest and loving, trustworthy, passionate. She preferred it when the beauty was more than just skin deep.

Although, she could suppose, it didn’t hurt when the package was pretty, too.

Was it Tea’s fault when she admired Atem’s pointed chin and elegant nose? When she stared at Seto Kaiba’s blue,  _ blue _ eyes? When she gazed blankly at Duke Devlin’s defined collarbones? When she blinked, mesmerized, at Tristan Taylor’s lean biceps? When she gazed at Yugi’s pink,  _ pink  _ lips, so softly bowed?

_ NO _ , it was  _ not  _ her fault, okay?! Even  _ Tea _ was allowed to find males aesthetically pleasing!

So, Tea was only  _ human _ when she ogled the new lifeguard at the community pool.

\--  _ Why _ ? Why did he have those biceps? You could wash clothes on those abs! --

She snapped her head away, lips pursed and blushing fiercely. Her friends bickered around her, but she steadfastly ignored them in favor of trying to get her heart rate to settle down.

_ Stop  _ ogling  _ the poor man, you sick, sick woman _ , she chided herself.

But, apparently, her eyes were not on board with that plan, because, before long, her gaze strayed back over to him. His easy grin was confident, carefree. Thick, powerful thighs flexed beneath blue swim trunks. Long, glossy, wild black hair fell down that muscular back -- dear god, that back, he must’ve stolen it from some Greek god -- and that bronzed skin looked so  _ delicious _ in the summer sun.

She palmed her face and grimaced.  _ Delicious _ ? He was a human being, not a slab of meat!

She whimpered. But why was he so muscular? It just shouldn’t be legal to be that decadently  _ hunky _ . 

_ Hunky _ . She’d used the word  _ hunky _ . Now it was time to go die a shameful death in some pit somewhere.

She huffed, and stood. Okay, this was a pool, and it was made for swimming -- not foaming at the mouth over some poor unsuspecting lifeguard.

She drifted to the edge of the pool. The whole area was dense with girls and woman of all ages -- Tea wasn’t the only one with a fancy for the new guy in town.

She gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she hated, it was being a shallow, basic bitch like the girls she went to school with. Oh, how her mirror would mock her when she returned home.

_ Swimming, swimming, you’re here to swim, Tea _ , she reminded herself.

She sank into the water, and almost immediately melted. It was so cool, so nice. She sighed, waded along the edge of the pool until she got to a comfortable depth, where she stopped, and laid her forearms along the edge and her cheek on her arms. She sighed again. Oh yes, it was so clear now.  _ This  _ was why she came to the pool today. 

Her eyes opened, and she nearly slammed her head on the concrete just to end it all.

She’d subconsciously stopped right in front of that ridiculously high lifeguard’s chair.

_ You’re such a thirsty bitch _ , she growled to herself.

Without her permission, her eyes trailed up, up, up.

Dark eyes peered back at her.

That easy grin she’d noticed was gone, replaced by this intense expression she was sure she had been making (though less handsomely) barely five minutes ago. When he realized that she met his gaze, he started, jerking back in his seat, and a lurid red blush swarmed his high cheekbones. He looked away hastily.

Tea smiled, a giggling, breathless grin, her own blush heating her cheeks again. 

_ Cute _ .

And then he was glancing back at her, and his face was practically a tomato when he realized that she was still looking at him.

She laughed, winked, and he looked like he was about to combust right where he stood. With a smile that made her face ache, she turned around, faced the other way. She’d leave the poor guy alone.

* * *

She and her friends were getting ready to leave when he apparently got off duty.

What really surprised her about the situation was his decision to approach her.

“Hello,” he said, warm and friendly, dark eyes glittering even as he blushed at her.

“Hi,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He watched the movement with wide and somehow innocent eyes. He extended a hand. “I’m Ryouta Kajiki. But my friends call me Mako.”

Tea smiled at him. She already knew his name -- every girl in town had squealed it at some point -- but she really didn’t feel like telling him that. “I’m Tea Gardner.” She accepted his hand and shook it.

His grip was so firm and his hand just  _ felt so damn good _ . 

She gave him a wry grin. “My friends just call me Tea.”

“Tea,” he repeated, still dazedly shaking her hand.

She giggled at him, and when he realized that he hadn’t let go of her yet, his cheeks were once again ablaze.

“My apologies, Tea!”

Geesh, he really was just so damn  _ cute _ \-- and she was feeling less bad now that she was learning that he was a really sweet guy.

“It’s okay. We all get a little distracted sometimes,” she said, feeling her own blush creeping back onto his cheeks.

He beamed sheepishly, fiddled with the waistband of his shorts.

Tea tried her damnedest to  _ not _ let the movement draw her eyes to his wondrous abdominal muscles.

“That is true,” he replied, and then he was staring at her with so much hesitation. “There is an ice cream shop near here. I just got off my shift, and I notice you are preparing to leave. I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me, if you have no other plans?”

She looked over to where Joey and Tristan were bickering and Yugi was just trying his best to keep it from escalating into wrestling again. She looked back to Ryouta.

“I have nothing planned, and I’m sure these buffoons will survive without my supervision. I’d love to go with you,” she said, playing with the necklace dangling at the hollow of her throat.

He grinned, joyous and shy. “Good.” He laughed, a little disbelieving. “Good.”

Okay, maybe she should ogle a little more often if it earned her dates with cute guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mako is super blunt and straight-forward in canon, but I could also see him being super shy when it comes to girls and romance.  
> Anyway, hoped you enjoyed this one, and I’ll see you next time!  
> Next Up: Principleshipping (Ryuuji Otogi/Duke Devlin x Mahad)


	25. Principleshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Principleshipping (Ryuuji Otogi/Duke Devlin x Mahad)  
> Woot! Another request! So, I had to name this ship, and I chose Principleshipping (if that one is already taken, please inform me). With Mahad, it’s a pretty easy guess. I mean, I don’t think I need to expound upon that. With Duke… well, he was a super douchy guy when he was first introduced, but, in summary, after Yugi/Yami proved his/their honor, he basically jumped to his/their aid without question. So, I guess what I’m saying is that he’s a man of principle.  
> Anyway, here’s an ancient history (literally, this story is ancient history) AU with Djinn!Ryuuji and Mahad as… well, Mahad.  
> Also, this turned out much longer than expected. But I hope you enjoy it!

**So It Shall Be**

To say that the Pharaoh of Khemet received a multitude of gifts would be a grand understatement; he received more gifts in one moon cycle than a lesser man would receive in his and his children’s entire lifetimes. However, many of these gifts were not presented directly to the god-king himself. Of course, there was a quality and safety inspection; something given with the intention to inspire delight in the Pharaoh’s heart could just as easily be something given with the intention to send him to the immortal plane.

Priest Mahad sometimes became involved with these inspections, especially when magical essences were even so much as mentioned.

Such as now.

Priest Seth begrudgingly carried the urn forward. It was oblong, nearly awkward in height, and ancient; the paintings and carvings had long since worn off. But, even for its age, the clay from which it was fashioned was of the highest quality.

As soon as the other priest crossed the threshold of Mahad’s laboratory with that urn in tow, the fine hairs stood at attention on the back of his neck. Magical energy pulsed from the object as if it had an enormous metaphysical heart. It washed upon Mahad in overwhelming waves.

“By Nut and all her divine children, what _is_ that?” Mahad said, breathless and aghast.

Priest Seth’s scowl deepened, which Mahad had not realized was possible until that very moment. “Your guess is as good as mine. Some pretentious fool from the other side of the sea thought it would make a good gift for His Divinity.” With his tall frame, he easily hefted it onto a stone slab of a table. He growled a sigh through his nose.

Mahad almost frowned sympathetically. If Priest Seth, with all his boundless pride in his own abilities, sought help from Mahad on such a matter, it was clearly important.

Mahad was, in all actuality, the most powerful sorcerer in all of Khemet and beyond, though he would hardly admit to any of it. Priest Seth seemed to find indefinite issue with this fact, though no amount of studying or training seemed to change their standing.

Mahad stepped forward, despite every fiber of his being begging him to turn tail and run. It was instinctual: a magic of this magnitude was something he had never encountered before. It made his own skills seem like child’s play. He leaned closer. The worn lid was sealed with thick wax.

“Is it inherently magical… or does it contain some sort of magic within it?” he muttered, cautiously trailing his finger along the seal. The urn seemed to thrum, warm and humming –  like a living being, beneath his touch.

“One cannot be sure without opening it,” Priest Seth responded to Mahad’s rather rhetorical musings. “The one who gifted it was ranting about three wishes, or something or other. He was clearly out of his mind, so it is rather difficult to give his words objective consideration.”

“We cannot allow His Divinity to open it. The consequences are unfathomable,” Mahad said, shuddering at the thought.

“Obviously.”

Mahad exhaled slowly.

There was but one thing to do.

* * *

The desert at night was fiercely cold, a true jackal; with its chilling teeth it would snatch away the unwitting: the elderly, the young babes in their sleep, the ones with weak lungs and weaker constitutions. Yet, there was no better time to travel, for the harsh light of Ra made an even greater adversary than the soft glow of the moon.

Deeper into the west desert Mahad ventured, and the dull sound of hooves plodding into sand was just barely audible over the sibilant whispers of the wind. Save for those simple noises and the occasional snorts from Mahad’s horse, all was silent here, in this inhospitable wasteland of shifting sands.

The isolation made perfect conditions for Mahad’s endeavor; if plans were to go awry, no unsuspecting bystanders would be harmed.

He glanced back over his shoulder, where the wind was already brushing away the hoofprints in the sand. Far into the horizon, he could only see the bare crests of dunes.

He’d ventured far enough, he surmised.

With but a tug on the reins, the horse stopped its steady pace, and Mahad’s tall form easily dismounted from the simple saddle.

He unstrapped the urn from the back. His hands nearly went numb just from touching it, but he could feel how oddly warm it was despite the biting chill of the night.

The horse snorting again, pawed at the sand. It had shown great discomfort when he’d first brought the object into its proximity, but it seemed to have acclimated over the journey. Now, its ear flicked back, and it gnashed its teeth against its bit. Its tail lashed its haunches viciously.

Mahad patted its flank, cooed soothingly until it stopped shifting so restlessly, traced a faint tranquility spell onto its hide.

With the beast calmed to a satisfactory temperament, he turned back to the matter at hand.

He stepped away from his horse, and his sandals slipped on and sunk into the silver-stained grains of the desert. He set the urn down, and with a shaking, numb finger, picked at the wax sealing the urn’s lid to its body.

He sighed through his nose. He could probably just pluck the lid straight off, but the magic pulsed like a crescendoing drum beat. Trepidation gnawed at the back of his neck.

At least if he died, it was in service to Pharaoh Atem.

And he took the lid off.

In all honesty, Mahad had imagined something more… explosive. A burst of magic, perhaps fire pouring forth in a furious breath.

Instead, a thick fog, or perhaps smoke, seemed to rise forth, spilled over the edges in long, curling wisps, more, more, _more_ , thick and gray and dark, until it formed a roiling cloud that crackled and spit with tiny starbursts of static. Mahad’s skin grew hot yet numb in the overwhelming presence of this magic, swelling and awesome, an inferno in comparison to the oscillating pulse from earlier.

His mouth, dry, dropped open as the cloud swirled, and two _vibrantly_ green orbs of light peered from within the crackling vortex.

Eyes. They were eyes.

“Again, another calls upon my power, releases me a brief while for the sake of three wishes,” a voice, smooth like honey but resonating and _omnipresent_ and so powerful it nearly brought Mahad to his knees, murmured into the desert night.

And, in all his dumbstruck daze, Mahad realized the nature of this entity; a Djinn, a spirit that lured humans to demise with the allure of three grand deeds.

“Tell me, human, the name of my new master,” the spirit commanded, and that smoke twisted, twirled, wrapped itself into a human form standing before the sorcerer.

“Mahad,” he breathed his own name, “the magician.” Though such a title seemed feeble in the presence of this creature.

Finally, the cloud coalesced into flesh, sallow and glowing golden from within as if a fire burned beneath the man’s skin. Brilliant red robes, extravagant but so foreign in style billowed about as if the material were suspended under water. Black hair, thick as the night and longer still, drifted similarly alongside a face of such ethereal beauty it stole Mahad’s very breath from his lungs. Verdant eyes to rival any emerald pierced into him.

“A magician?” the Djinn repeated, and it seemed as if he felt the same way about the moniker as Mahad. Toned, golden arms crossed, and gold cuffs, adorned with chains that faded gradually from material existence, glittered from the spirit’s forearms. ”Well, Mahad the magician, my new master, you may call me Ryuuji.”

Mahad gulped, but it hurt with how dry his mouth had become. “Ryuuji…”

This power had a name.

This power… which had obviously been sealed away for good reason.

“... How do I return you to the urn?” Mahad asked.

That beautiful face twisted into such contempt that Mahad feared ever more for his own mortality. “You wish to banish me to my eternal prison so soon? If so, you must make your three wishes. There is no other way.”

Mahad shook his head. By the gods, no. What had he done?

Though better him than His Divinity.

“I know your kind, spirit. I know that any deeds I ask of you will only cause more harm than good. You desire not to fulfill my wishes, only to bring me suffering,” Mahad replied, and somehow he had gathered the strength to speak with such conviction.

A dark, fine brow arched. “Is that so?”

Mahad just noticed that his numbness was starting to subside. Perhaps his body was quickly acclimating to this overwhelming presence of magic. “Yes.”

“But I could grant you anything, _anything_ you may desire, sorcerer,” Ryuuji said, and in such seductive tones that any lesser man would have been swayed.

“Nothing I desire you could grant me, Spirit of the Urn,” Mahad said with utmost confidence.

“Oh? But are you not a seeker of knowledge? I could give you all of the knowledge this world and the next ones have to offer, all of the darkest secrets of the universe,” Ryuuji said, and he hovered closer, his slender, glowing fingers caressing under Mahad’s chin.

Mayas blinked, though his chin was burning and numb under the spirit's tantalizing touch. "I find fulfillment not in the knowledge itself, but in the journey to find it. What is the point of knowledge without having the wisdom you gained learning it?"

Those dark brows immediately burrowing over wide, striking green eyes. But Ryuuji recovered quickly, and a confident smirk curled his shapely lips. "Power? A magician such as yourself could never have too much power."

Mahad shook his head slowly, yet held eye contact with the Djinn before him. "Refer to my previous response."

Ryuuji scoffed, and it seemed as though the sound changed the direction of the very wind about them. "You must want something, human. You are not without greed or desire."

"I never said I was, but I simply do not wish for you to grant me these things. I prefer I procure them myself," Mahad replied stoically.

That bare contempt resurfaced on the Djinn's face for another split second. And then he became sly, a jackal in the reeds. "I sense your _loneliness_ , magician," Ryuuji simpered, and he drew that almighty finger along Mahad's tense lips. "I know the emptiness of your heart." Yes, his smirk was that of a jackal. "And your bed." He chuckled, sensual, mocking. "I could make you irresistible to those whom you focus your advances. No creature could withstand your wiles. You have but to wish it and it shall be so."

Mahad finally snapped his head away from that burning touch, though his feet were still immobile in the sand. " _Vile_ ," he spat, "I'd allow no one in my bed if they did not choose it for themselves. If they do not value me without the aid of magic, they have no place partaking of my body."

Ryuuji bared his teeth, and they gleamed like pearls in the night. "You were so eager to send me back yet you wish for nothing. I hope you realize I will be bound to you for eternity if you do not command of me these three things."

"Then it shall be so!" Mahad growled back, and in all his indignation he finally managed to brush past the spirit to snatch up the urn.

"Hmph!" And the spirit drifted after him, even after he strapped the urn to the saddle and mounted his horse.

The ride back to the capital was long and filled with tense silence. Mahad could only reel after the turn of events.

This was dangerous, utterly dangerous. Could he survive the rest of his days with that temptation constantly lurking at his fingertips?

He sighed, his breath clouding in the frosty desert air. He'd have to, he'd withstood worse.

And he supposed there was a bright side: if Ryuuji was bound to Mahad until the end of his days, at least in the meantime the Djinn wouldn't bring any other unfortunate soul to misery.

* * *

That golden glow reflected in Priest Seth's wide blue eyes. "A… Djinn?"

Mahad barely glanced up from the scroll he was so carefully penning notes into. "Indeed."

Ryuuji sighed loudly, and several scraps of papyrus flapped in Mahad's sizable laboratory and study. "Please do not speak of me as if I am not here, humans."

Priest Seth frowned. "He is unpleasant. It is a good thing His Divinity is not bound to such a being."

"Hypocrisy," the Djinn spat. "You _snake_. I sensed your arrogance before we even gained sight of the capital."

"Ryuuji, this is Priest Seth. Priest Seth, this is Ryuuji," Mahad blandly introduced, quite late, he supposed. "Now please be quiet. I am trying to finish my notes."

"Is that a wish? A command?" Ryuuji inquired.

"No. Simply a request. The choice to obey or not is entirely yours," Mahad replied. "You are, after all, still fully autonomous despite our bindings. In fact, I recommend touring the capital and the palace. It is simply gorgeous this time of year, and I am sure you deserve such freedom after being locked in that damn urn for however long."

Seth watched the Djinn stare at Mahad in confounded silence. "As lovely as that sounds," Ryuuji began slowly, as if the words took great thought, "I am compelled to remain within a certain proximity to my master. You, in this case."

Mahad finally turned his head away from his work. He frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose I will have time after I am finished with my notes. Or do you desire to go now?"

A long blink of vivid green eyes. "I can… I can wait."

Mahad looked back down to his papyrus. He gesticulated vaguely to a shelf to his left. It had honeycomb cubbies filled with scrolls. "I have plenty of reading material if you seek to entertain yourself in the meantime."

Seth shook his head at the two and left without a word. Even _he_ had a hard time holding up a derisive front to Mahad's endless patience and kindness. It seemed even a Djinn could not maintain an unpleasant demeanor to the most powerful, and the humblest, sorcerer in the known world.

* * *

It didn't take long for Mahad to learn the rules of Ryuuji's powers, either by the Djinn himself telling him or Mahad's own observations.

The Djinn could make nearly anything materialize from thin air, but only if it served the Djinn's own purposes. A curse, the Djinn explained, that any other who wanted to benefit from his magic must do so by wishing. But only Mahad, or Ryuuji's master in general, could have a wish granted. The palace handmaidens, so besotted by the beautiful Djinn spirit that lingered about the High Priest, would often make wishes in jest, or even sometimes seriously.

Ryuuji could only stray about fifty meters before the golden chains trailing from his wrists would grow taut and restrain him from venturing any farther. That rule led to Mahad taking longer and more frequent journeys from the palace: it guilted him so when the Djinn was trapped around Mahad's laboratory with very little with which to entertain himself.

Ryuuji could not return to the urn, even for rest. He was bound to the outside world. Mahad made sure living accommodations for the spirit were promptly set, even if Ryuuji could summon himself a bed if he so desired. After all, even if this situation were not quite desirable for either parties, Mahad would not let himself be anything but hospitable to the spirit.

Ryuuji could change his appearance, if only marginally, but perhaps that was only his preference; after all, in his natural form he had beauty unrivaled by any mortal creature. Why alter perfection? as he said when Mahad inquired as to how far the alterations could go.

There were probably others. Probably more that Mahad himself had noticed but didn't bother to remember.

After all, he had all his life to learn about his new companion.

* * *

*six moons after that fateful night in the desert*

First, it was the cries of a woman in labor. For two days and two nights, the queen struggled through the throes of childbirth. Mahad was present for the arduous hours, tracing tranquilities spells on her forehead between contractions. Pharaoh Atem sat at his wife's side and prayed and gripped her hand in both of his and brushed her hair away. His red eyes were dark with exhaustion but not once did he sleep.

But the midwives looked grim.

It was when the babe was finally expelled from his mother's body that those cries of pain and exertion morphed into wails of anguish.

The babe had been stillborn.

Never before had Mahad seen such sorrow in Atem's eyes as he held his tiny, motionless son in his trembling arms.

"He would've been named after you, Mahad," Atem had whispered, and perhaps it was only the lingering dregs of his dignity as god-king of Khemet that kept him from weeping openly to all present.

Then, all others but the king and his queen were banished from the royal chambers, so the divine couple could privately grieve the life of a child they would never meet on the mortal plane.

The gods would allow the unborn prince to paradise, Mahad was sure.

Still, as he sat in his study, Mahad could only watch the midday sun glitter on the waters of the Nile. Behind his closed eyes, amongst the lingering ghosts of shimmering light, he saw only those agonized scarlet eyes.

If anyone deserved happiness, it was His Divinity.

Then, he had a thought. An idea. Perhaps… perhaps he could use just one…

"Ryuuji," he said quietly, "I desire to use my first wish."

And the Djinn was immediately at his side. "My master…" he murmured, and his golden hand laid gently on Mahad's broad shoulder. The burning intensity of his touch was somehow comforting. "Bringing one back from the dead is a grave mistake… even I have no idea who I would drag from the immortal realm."

Mahad slowly shook his head. "No, that was not what I had in mind."

Ryuuji's hand tightened the slightest amount, and Mahad finally turned to meet the Djinn's furrowed brow and burning green eyes. "I wish…" he exhaled slowly, then took a deep breath, "I wish for His Divinity, Pharaoh Atem, to live a long life filled with happiness and purpose, that he know no suffering or sorrow as he does this day."

Thick lashes parted wider. That elegant jaw was slack.

"Can you… grant me this wish, Djinn?" Mahad asked, and he wondered if he looked as desperate as he felt.

Ryuuji's voice was so soft, as if surprise stole away the confidence and bravado with which he usually spoke. "I can," and then he spoke with greater conviction, with magical power that made the air undulate and the ground tremble, "So it shall be. Consider it done, my master."

Mahad nodded, chin tensing and a single tear cascading down his cheek. He turned back to his work, though one hand gently gripped the one still resting on his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend."

* * *

*eleven moon cycles after the fateful night in the desert*

Several of Mahad's duties required him to travel Khemet and pay his respects at various shrines littered across the desertous, yet paradisiacal, country.

Ryuuji basked in it all. Never had he been out of his prison for such a length of time. Typical mortals spent their wishes without much thought, all impulsive desires that fed their appetitive sides.

Each time, he visited the slums, where he gave out food and drink and magic to the poor and suffering.

"The Pharaoh cannot be all places all at once, and he cannot control the weather that nourishes the crops. It pains him, all of us at the court, to know that suffering lingers in our beloved country."

Ryuuji, for once, did not doubt these words, words had heard so many times from so many mouths. It seemed that the royalty and courtiers of Khemet ate as modestly as possible to reduce food wastage.

Pharaoh Atem was truly worthy of the throne, and Ryuuji could wholly empathize with Mahad's decision for his first wish: Atem was a king who took the burdens of his people onto his own shoulders. He most certainly deserved a lifetime of happiness for his struggles.

It was the first completely selfless wish Ryuuji had ever granted a mortal, and the only one he didn't twist sadistically to inflict the most amount of suffering unto the wisher.

Mahad deserved far more respect than that.

Again, Mahad was handing out bread and preserved meats to the people of the slums. With but a touch, he healed minor sickness and wounds.

A little girl blushed as she accepted a small treat from the tall, imposing magician. He knelt down, drew gentle fingers along her face to push her wild hair from her eyes. The Djinn smiled on, crouched next to him as Mahad laid a palm on her head.

"Considered your fever vanquished, my child," Mahad said softly.

She smiled, all teeth and sparkling eyes, and moved forward to engulf the High Priest in her tiny embrace. Mahad chuckled gently and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Ryuuji reached forward, and his golden hand -- though the glow was muted to prevent staring from bystanders -- stroked through that child's hair, soft as the down of a hatchling bird.

Mahad stared at him, and his eyes widened in revelation before his face settled into its typical stoic expression. "I have been a selfish man," he said quietly, petting the girl's back before he drew away and stood.

Ryuuji frowned at him. "Master… you are far from selfish."

Mahad shook his head slowly, "No, I have wished for the well-being of a single man, when so many more need my help."

Ryuuji's eyes widened so much they ached. "Do you mean…?"

"I wish for the people of Khemet live long, healthy lives, where they know no hunger, see no war, and feel no ill." He firmly met the Djinn's stunned gaze. "Can you grant my wish, Djinn?"

Ryuuji's breath stuttered in his lungs. "I can." He stood as well, slowly, purposefully, though, without the hovering, he was a full head shorter than the magician. "So it shall be. Consider it done, my master."

Mahad gripped his shoulder and squeezed gently. Those eyes sparkled with gratitude, yet still he whispered, "Thank you, my friend."

* * *

*two years after that fateful night in the desert*

Ryuuji found himself dreading that third wish, and not for the reasons he normally did.

Yes, he desired to return the urn as much as he desired to take a bath in manure… but he realized that what he would miss most was his current master. He would miss Mahad. There could never be a master quite like Mahad. Mahad the kind, Mahad the patient, Mahad the humble, Mahad the utterly, _stupidly_ selfless.

It was only a matter of time before Mahad thought of some noble cause to spend it on.

Ryuuji honestly expected him to wish for the health and wellness of the entire mortal plane, but Mahad said that that was entirely unreasonable and beyond even Ryuuji's power. He was correct, much to Ryuuji's relief; it meant that Mahad had to spend time to think of something else on which to spend his final wish.

That time seemed to stretch on forever; after all, Mahad had everything he needed to rest well at night -- his king and his people were guaranteed to live full, happy lives.

His final wish came at a most terrible moment.

They were far away from the sands of Khemet, across the sea and amongst the islands of the Greek city-states.

Though Ryuuji never purposely did anything to bring suffering to his master, it seemed his presence alone could accomplish just that.

The logic was easy to follow; kill the master of the urn, and the Djinn returns to his prison to await a new master.

And so they tried.

Mahad was a powerful magician, no doubt, but there was only so much he could do when surprise attacked.

Magic flared and blasted all around. The large pendant around his neck flared and glowed, and balls of fire launched from the top of his staff. Yet still, he clutched his stomach, where startling, wet crimson stained his pale robe.

Ryuuji fluttered, panicked helplessly. Again and again, he attempted some sort of spell, _anything_ to help his wounded master, but the curse snuffed all his endeavors before they could be realized.

Mahad snarled, and a final blast of fire and darkness pushed the assassins back. He stood, panting and blanched and sweating coldly, staff still outstretched, until he collapsed against the wall.

Ryuuji rushed to his side. "Mahad!" He set his hands over his master's, felt that hot liquid pulse over his fingers in time with Mahad's wildly pounding heart. "How deep is it?" He panted, pressed hard to keep pressure on the wound.

"D-Deep enough," Mahad said, gritty with pain and wan from blood loss.

"H-Heal yourself!" Ryuuji cried as more and more blood gushed over their joined fingers.

"You know I can't," Mahad groaned, fingers trembling beneath Ryuuji's.

It was true -- a magician's healing spells had no effect on himself.

Ryuuji gasped, looked emphatically into Mahad's half-lidded eyes. "A wish! Make a wish, Mahad. _I_ can save you!"

Mahad shook his head slowly, a pained smile curling his lips. "No. If the gods have fated me to die, I will accept it. If I am not, so be it."

Ryuuji choked on a sob, "Please, Mahad. You have one last wish, _please_ use it for yourself."

Mahad lifted one hand, stained by his own blood, up to cup the Djinn's tear-soaked cheek. "Say, how long have you been cursed, Ryuuji?"

Ryuuji shook his head, _you're wasting time, you foolish, **foolish** man. _"I don't know. Several millennia. It doesn't matter now!"

"Several millennia." Mahad's hand dropped down to weakly grip a gold cuff on Ryuuji's forearm. "Quite a long time to be trapped periodically in a jar, wouldn't you say, my friend?"

"Shut up and make the wish, you blithering idiot!" Ryuuji snapped.

Mahad chuckled. "I wish…" he once again cupped Ryuuji's cheek. "I wish for you to be free, Ryuuji." He breathed raggedly, and the faint wind of it fluttered on Ryuuji's trembling lips. "Can you grant me that, Djinn?"

"I can," Ryuuji choked.

"I wish it, Djinn. Make it so." His head thumped back against the wall.

"Please --"

"Make it so, my friend," Mahad said softly.

"So it shall be. Consider it done, my master."

* * *

Ryuuji, despite his stature in relation to Mahad, easily carried the other man away.

The bleeding had stopped. In fact, the flesh was completely sealed. But still, the loss of blood and magic forced Mahad into a state of unconsciousness.

Ryuuji cursed his own panicked stupidity.

Of course, in his freedom from the curse, he could heal Mahad's wound.

And he could have just teleported away, but he took the opportunity to relish the sensation of Mahad in his arms. His arms felt lighter, stronger without the constant weight of his chains.

This selfless, stupid man.

Mahad stirred, his head lolling against Ryuuji's shoulder. "You're… you're still here…"

"You shan't rid yourself of me so easily, Mahad," he whispered.

"You're free," Mahad replied. "Go, be free."

Ryuuji winked at him. "You are my master no longer. I shall do as I please, mortal."

Mahad laughed quietly, his eyes falling closed.

"I could have killed you, you know. It is good to distrust a Djinn," Ryuuji said softly.

"Yet you didn't. Yet you healed me. You are a man of honor, Ryuuji."

"Only you know the true meaning of honor, Mahad, of all my masters," Ryuuji said solemnly.

Mahad said nothing, only rested his cheek on Ryuuji's shoulder.

Ryuuji paused a moment. He pressed a kiss to Mahad's slack lips. They responded, gentle and firm, and Ryuuji smiled softly.

He should not have dreaded that final wish so; it was only Mahad's nature to use it for Ryuuji's sake.

Ryuuji knew he would have a long life, filled with happiness, if only because Mahad would wish it so.

And so it shall be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this has got to be one of my favorite oneshots thus far. This whole Djinn idea was really far too much fun for its own good. I just kept writing… and writing… and writing… and it wasn’t quite done yet, so I kept writing… You get the point XD  
> Anyway, guess it’s time to mention the next ship!  
> Next Up: Stubbornshipping (Seto Kaiba x Tristan Taylor/Honda Hiroto)


	26. Stubbornshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Stubbornshipping (Seto Kaiba x Tristan Taylor/Hiroto Honda)  
> I'm not gonna lie. This is PWP. If smut isn't your thing, move along XD

**Quarterly Performance Report**

His presence was like a blizzard. Everyone in the room shrunk in on themselves, huddling, shivering. Seto Kaiba was met with fear,  _ especially  _ by his employees.

Their job security rested on his oscillating temper.

Only one sat, unhindered when Kaiba stormed into this particular engineering department.

"Taylor!" He barked, and the sea of heads ducked into their cubicles.

Hazel eyes rolled. "What?"

"Where are those reports?" His long legs and longer strides easily carried him to his senior engineer's desk. 

A brown brow arched. "Which ones? A majority of them have been sent directly to you."

"Don't smart-mouth me," Seto Kaiba snarled, and he slammed Tristan's laptop closed, barely missing his fingers. "I want those Duel Disk reports."

That brown brow arched ever higher. "You could've emailed me."

"A vehement email would not have had the same effect as my presence," he hissed. 

Tristan's lip twitched, and he bit back a smirk. "Of course, of course."

Kaiba noticed, and the glower on his face grew darker. But the heat in his eyes was dichotomous to the annoyance sitting on his lips, and Tristan found himself shivering for an entirely different reason than the employees working under him. "I want them. As soon as possible."

"And you shall receive," Tristan replied. Their eyes stayed locked as Tristan pulled his laptop closer to him and opened it pointedly.

Then Kaiba's unbelievably blue eyes were focused on Tristan's typing fingers. 

When next Kaiba spoke, his voice was low, but just as harsh and twice as heated. "Will you be making that meeting tonight?"

This time, Tristan couldn't hold back his smirk. Kaiba's eyes narrowed, but those pupils dilated until only a scant ring of ultramarine glared into Tristan's grinning gaze. "As if I have a choice."

Kaiba leaned down, suit jacket straining against his broad shoulders. "You always have a choice. It's simply up to you to make the best one."

"I'm not known for making the best decisions," Tristan said, and he cleared his throat afterward when his voice husked out in a rather work-inappropriate manner. 

"You didn't make senior engineer right out of university because I doubt your abilities," Kaiba said.

"That's high praise from you, Mr. Kaiba."

"Yet not the highest you've heard." A smirk, brief, graced Kaiba's lips. The fleeting sight made Tristam's heart pound harder in his chest. "Not from me, at least."

"That's true."

Kaiba suddenly straightened, face falling into that bitter glower once again. "I expect to see you later this evening, Taylor."

"Of course, Mr. Kaiba." 

* * *

It was true; Kaiba had hired him right out of college. Well, maybe not true, because Tristan had, in fact, worked a paid internship at KaibaCorp his last year of university. 

But he wondered what exactly had led them to now.

* * *

"Harder," Seto mewled, and Tristan thought heatedly about how none of those employees, shivering with fear, had heard Seto Kaiba quite like he had. Those long, slender hands gripped and tugged at the disheveled sheets and scrambled at the thumping headboard.

Tristan complied, hunched over the other man, feverishly kissing at the broad shoulders he found himself constantly admiring. 

* * *

Was it the long meetings?

* * *

Seto's head whipped back against Tristan's shoulder, and Tristan's whole body ached, but he dared not slow down, not when each well-placed thrust made Seto moan so loudly, so wantonly. 

"Oh  _ god _ ," he cried, deep voice cracking, and Tristan fisted his fingers in that thick hair, and he yanked Seto in for a heated kiss. Tongues twisting and hot breaths mixing and lips mouthing.

* * *

The late nights poring over blueprints together?

* * *

"Yeah, take it," Tristan growled into Seto's mouth. " _ Take it _ , just like that." They pushed their foreheads together, sweat-matted hair tangling. "Just like that, you sexy  _ bastard _ ."

Seto arched back into him, pushed into the thrusts. His jaw dropped lower, lower. "Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ , f-fuck!" 

"Touch yourself," he snarled against Seto's ear. 

* * *

The tense bickering that dissolved into easy banter?

* * *

Seto collapsed forward, unable to hold himself up on one shaking arm. Tristan's hand tightened in that sweaty, thick hair, and he yanked him back up, much to Seto's delight.

Spine bowed tight, hand working himself into a frenzy, gasping too heavily to make any other sound. Seto was a mess and they were both loving every minute of it. 

"C'mon, c'mon," Tristan goaded, teeth clenched hard, so hard his jaw would later ache, as he staved himself off just long enough for--

A long moan, Seto's body trembling and bucking uncontrollably before he melted beneath Tristan's hands.

Tristan pinned him down, hips fluttering and head whipping back as he burst seconds later.

* * *

Maybe it was all of it and more.

* * *

Hot, panting breaths filled the room, along with the occasional grunt when one spasmed with an aftershock. The air smelled like sex and masculinity, and it was nearly enough to push Tristan for another round. 

Nearly.

They collapsed to the side, and Tristan gingerly disengaged from the hold of the other man's body.

He rolled onto his back, basked in the feeling of sweat on his skin cooling and evaporating.

"God _ damn _ ," Seto grunted. He stretched a moment, trembling all the while.

Tristan hummed in agreement. 

* * *

He never thought he'd be the person to sleep with his boss. Ever.

And especially not when said boss was Seto Kaiba.

* * *

"So, Mr. Kaiba," Tristan said, rolling onto his side, com propped on his fist, held up by his elbow. "What's my performance for this quarter?"

Seto chuckled breathlessly, shifting onto his back and holding his hand up, forefinger and thumb touching. "Proficient in all categories." His hand fell heavily back to the bed.

* * *

And he especially didn't expect Seto Kaiba to take his cock like it was an art form.

* * *

Tristan laughed. "I expected some more qualitative commentary," he trailed a strong hand along Seto's pale side, "but I suppose I'll settle for 'proficient.'"

Seto leaned in, swollen lips tracing Tristan's collarbone. "Oh?" Tristan could feel those lips twist into a smirk. "Well, you're a  _ hard _ worker." They both chuckled a moment at the innuendo. "You're fast…" he kissed up tendons on Tristan's neck. "Efficient." He breathed hotly into Tristan's ear. "You definitely know how to put me through my paces."

Tristan turned his head just lightly, until his nose was brushing Seto's ear. "Well, what am I supposed to do, when you're so demanding in return?"

Seto only smirked, shifted for a kiss.

Tristan met him eagerly, and the two fell back into the sheets, limbs tangling. 

"Oh," Seto sighed when Tristan continued to touch all the right places, "You also have amazing mental…" he bucked up, a challenging snarl on his lips. "... And  _ physical  _ endurance."

"Well, let's put it to the test, huh?"

* * *

Tristan wasn't sure how it began. But he sure as hell didn't regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ashamed. Bottom Seto is my guilty pleasure.   
> So, a very nice reader requested some Joey/Jounouchi screen time, and, since I have him in a pairing in my pre-drawn set, I decided I would just bump that one up to next chapter!  
> Next Up: Revertshipping (Joseph Wheeler/Katsuya Jounouchi x Priest Set)


	27. Revertshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Revertshipping (Joey Wheeler/Jounouchi Katsuya x Priest Set)  
> So, for those of you who are reading this on AO3, you may have noticed the chapter limit I put on this. Yes, it says (x) chapters out of 30. BUT FEAR NOT, THE HATSHIPPING ADVENTURES ARE NO WHERE CLOSE TO BEING OVER. After this reaches 30 chapters, I simply plan on starting a new Hatshipping volume. Hatshipping el numero dos, if you catch my drift.
> 
> Deadass, I got stuck on this chapter a bit. I didn’t want to go down the cliched route of JOEY WHEELER, TIME TRAVELER EXTRAORDINAIRE. So I dinked around on a plot generator website and [ this gem was born. ](https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/s223k1a/two-callous-uncles-bouncing-to-beat.html) If you are reading this on FFN, you cannot see this link. However, if you want to, just make a trip over to AO3 and enjoy.  
> A hint of Puppyshipping if you stand upside down and tilt your head three degrees to the left.

**Joey Regrets Archaeology**

It was an average evening at the Muto household. And, like usual, the average evening at the Muto household included their honorary family member, Joseph Wheeler. 

He tipped his head back, a little (a lot) bored. Yugi was doing his homework, and video games just weren’t quite as fun with no one to play them with.

Which left him sitting in the living room, blankly staring at the television, which was playing -- perhaps a little too loudly -- some documentary that Sugoroku had fallen asleep to.

It was boring as hell, but Joey was too lazy to get up and and wrestle the remote from the old man’s slumbering grasp -- he’d surely wake up and claim that he  _ hadn’t _ fallen asleep and that he was still very much interested in whatever was playing on the screen. 

It was about archaeology -- and Joey always found the old man’s interest weird and obscure because apparently near death experiences make you more interested in things that almost killed you…? Whatever, Joey couldn’t relate. Anyways, it was about archaeology, and some mummy they found, and how anthropological experts were going to “recreate” him using the best technology the world apparently had to offer, and all of it was going to be based off of some crumbling old busts and the guy’s weird, sunken, mummy face that would probably reappear in Joey’s darkest dreams for the next, say, decade or so. 

He was supposedly some powerful god-king or whatever, but special because no one was quite sure how he’d ascended to the throne because the Egyptians decided that  _ for once _ they wouldn’t record everything in meticulous detail and chisel it into stone. 

Understandable -- that sounded like a lot of work…

Joey tried to catch the dude’s supposed name, but each fucking person pronounced it differently and it was just a mess and Joey decided he really didn’t care enough anyway. The only detail he would remember about this show three days from now would be that it bored the ever-loving shit out of him.

The program went on great, lengthy, wordy tangents that really didn’t have anything to do with what they were trying to do, and honestly the direction of it felt rather like a carousel on crack.

Finally, after forty-nine grueling minutes of grudging viewership on Joey’s part, they got around to revealing the computer-generated portrait of Pharaoh What’sHisFace.

Joey whistled, long and low, leaning forward a little in interest. “ _ Now  _ I can understand why they call ‘im a god-king.”

Pharaoh What’sHisFace had been a  _ very _ pretty young man. Based on the genetic testing they did on the mummy’s bone marrow, they were able to vaguely discern his eye and skin color. And his eyes were bluer than the desert skies they looked upon. A slender, stern face, lips somewhat pursed, and a straight nose. High cheekbones, like a fucking model.

But he looked oddly familiar. Joey frowned and dug a finger around inside his ear. 

But who did he look like?

And then he jolted out of his seat, as if taken over by a surge of electricity.

“Kaiba!” he gasped, pointing his finger to the screen as if accusing it of some awful misdeed.

Sugoroku jolted awake. “What?” Even Yugi ducked his head in.

“This fuckin’ mummy looks like Kaiba!” He looked quick to the old man. “Pardon my french.”

Yugi laughed. “It really does!”

Joey frowned, suddenly disconcerted with his previous train of thought. “I hate this borin’ stuff. Let’s find somethin’ else to do.”

_ Please, because I dun wanna ogle this stupid dead guy anymore. _

Later, he thought maybe he should tell Kaiba to get some sun.

It might do him some good, as it turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Low-key a parody on this absolutely vapid documentary I watched about King Tut. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!  
> Next Up: Unlikelyshipping (Insector Haga/Weevil Underwood x Marik/Malik Ishtar)


	28. Unlikelyshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Unlikelyshipping (Insector Haga/Weevil Underwood x Marik/Malik Ishtar)  
> Fem!Weevil, aka tiny ball of anger. Also a small town AU  
> So I know that I had had a different ship originally planned for this chapter, but it was giving me fits so I switched to a different one on the roster. Of course, this one decided to give me fits, too. The original version of this was like 6,000 words long, but I feel very insecure about the contents of those 6,000 words, so I decided to truncate the oneshot to about 1,300 pages. Ahhhhhh the taste of my own insecurity. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this!

**Unlikely**

Her footsteps were swift and light, but the water in the container in her hand remained steady. Inside, a few waterlogged leaves slid about, and a handful of rocks sat at the bottom. 

“Hey, bug-brain,” a loud voice said. “Whattaya have there?”

Dark blue eyes cut over. Rex was walking alongside her, his arms crossed behind his head, and he was peering with half-assed curiosity into the container in her hands. If she’d had a free hand, she would’ve pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. They were falling down as it was now. 

“Like you care,” she snorted. 

Suddenly, his eyebrows winged up, and he excitedly blurted, “Salamanders? Toads?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Ew, no. They’re far more interesting than those slimy…  _ things _ .” 

“They’re bugs, aren’t they?” he decided, basically ignoring her. 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “They’re stonefly nymphs. I’m doing my ecology paper on aquatic invertebrates.”

“Wow,” he scoffed. “You’re such an overachiever. Why don’t you snatch something off the Internet like everyone else?”

“Of course, you can’t expect anything less than idiotic from a complete idiot,” she snapped. “I bet you’re doing yours on dinosaurs,  _ like always _ .”

“Yeah, but that’s a bit rich coming from you, bug girl,” he replied rather nonchalantly. “And prehistoric ecology is damn fascinating.”

“Whatever,” she hissed.

“Whatever,” he mocked back in a nasally voice. “I’ll see ya later, crab-ass.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she replied, and he was turning down another hallway while she continued to the biology lab. “What a fucking dork,” she grumbled, and she stopped in front of the closed door to the biology lab. 

Her lip twitched.

“Dammit,” she muttered. Of course, Rex had bailed on her at a time when he would’ve actually been useful for once. Through the rectangular window on the wooden door, she could see that the light was on. Hopefully, Mr. Eule was actually in there and not just forgetful like normal. 

Man must have a ridiculously high electricity bill, she thought to herself with a grumble. 

She could yell, but that was… embarrassing. For some reason. 

So she kicked the door instead, though with a considerably small amount of force. She didn’t want the water in the small tank in her hand to get knocked everywhere.

She blew a bit of teal hair out of her eyes.

She should’ve just brought the nymphs in cups like her mother suggested and  _ then _ set up the tank when she got them to the lab. But stonefly nymphs are incredibly finicky, and she wanted to make them as comfortable as possible while they were under her care. She’d already traumatized them by tearing their rocky homes out of the water and plucking them off of the only shelter they’d known since emerging from their eggs. 

Voices came and went behind her in the hallway, a mocking Doppler Effect. Of  _ course _ they avoided her, even when they saw that she was in such a predicament.

Eva Underwood was  _ not _ known for her bright and cheerful disposition. 

But she certainly was for her lack thereof.

She bit down the sigh gurgling in her throat and the red climbing up her cheeks. 

A throat cleared behind her, and she looked over her shoulder. 

Shaggy sandy blond hair and perfectly-tanned skin.

Marik Ishtar. 

She blinked at him.

Pale eyebrows winged up, and his slender hand gestured to the door before her. “Need help?”

Over his shoulder was his gaggle of friends. They snickered openly, and she turned her head away swiftly and stepped aside. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The heat in her cheeks was blistering, and she thought for a moment that she was going to sweat, but Marik opened the door and held there, his long fingers splayed on the wood. 

Eva grumbled something akin to a "thanks" and stepped inside.

More mocking sniggering. 

She screwed her lips together tightly, unaware that her shoulders were hunching up to her ears.

Her eyes felt hot when she set the tank on a lab table. Mr. Eule was not there. She took a deep breath, eyes glued on rocks and the scorpion-like critters attached to them, and blinked rapidly.

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

Unbeknownst to her, Marik had followed on lightly padding feet.

"What do you have in there?" he asked, at her side, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

She darted her eyes to him and then quickly looked away. Her chuckle was tight and nervous, and the effect was decidedly sinister. Which was better than sounding like she had been about to bawl her eyes out.

Which she definitely had  _ not  _ been about to do. 

"Stonefly nymphs," she replied, adjusting her glasses a moment before she slung her backpack off and began digging through it. Aerator. She needed the aerator, lest her little ones asphyxiate. Mr. Eule, for once, had remembered where her tank was going to be set up and prepared accordingly.

She rolled up her sleeve and dunked her hand into the cool water to affix the aerator to the side of the tank. The invertebrates scuttled under rocks at the disturbance. With her free hand, she plugged in the air pump and made sure the aerator remained where she had put it even as it blasted tiny air bubbles into the water. 

Marik only grunted, and watched as she organized her station a little more. 

Her hand was wet, but she didn't care, only crossed her arms on the tabletop and crouched to be on eyelevel with the tank. 

"What are they for?" He asked, also crouching down, his chin on his crossed arms. "Huh. They kinda look like scorpions."

She cut him a glance. "The ecology project." She turned her eyes back to her invertebrate subjects. One had crawled back out. It scuttled to the sunken vegetation to eat. Eva hummed fondly. "I chose water contamination for my subject."

A huff of breath from his nose. "So you caught a bunch of bugs…?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stoneflies are very sensitive to water pollution. When a stream starts to get contaminated, they are some of the first to die off. So, to check how healthy a river is, you can simply investigate the stonefly population." She growled a sigh. "People think that they're only a bunch of bugs, why should we care? But invertebrates are the backbone to most ecosystems, especially aquatic ones. You lose the bugs, you start losing the fish, and all the things that eat the fish. On land, you lose all the things that eat the bugs, all the plants that rely on insects to pollinate them. The time it takes to break down detritus decreases an incredible amount." She sniffed and adjusted her glasses again. "People may hate them, but arthropods keep habitats stable."

Marik didn't say anything, and red-hot frustration sparked in Eva's chest. Of course. He was just like everybody else.

"Not that you care," she snapped, and she stood abruptly. 

He turned his head to frown up at her. His lavender eyes blinked slowly. "I didn't before but it feels like I should now."

Her teeth gritted so hard she thought she would snap a molar.

He stood slowly, long legs unfurling, and gave her a small smile. “Thanks for the info. That was very interesting.”

Eva deflated, but she still had a bit of a scowl on her face. “Sure. Whatever.”

He laughed. It was wholly unlike the mocking snickers of his friends. It was gentler, quieter, and his smile was one of genuine joy, not at sharp sneer of a smirk. 

Eva’s cheeks got hot again, but for a completely different reason. 

“You certainly are as grouchy as they say,” Marik commented. He smiled down at her, lavender sparkling in the light. He lifted his shoulders. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

Her scowl -- and her blush -- deepened, and she opened her mouth to say something -- something hopefully sharp and witty, but Marik was laughing and walking away. “Good luck with your bug project.”

She jerked her chin to look out the window and pretend that she hadn’t been eying his shapely ass in those dark jeans. “I don’t need luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Gameshipping (Yami/Atem x Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi)


	29. Gameshipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I am actively using tumblr now, (username draconicmaw) and I am lonely and I also have no idea what the hell I am doing so please come bother me. Thanks ^-^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Gameshipping (Yami Yugi/Atem x Duke Devlin/Otogi Ryuuji)
> 
> I am a bad person for neglecting… well, basically everything lately. But I’ve been having a hard time harnessing the ‘spark’ lately, but I thought I would just plow through this writer’s block with some good ol fashioned force and be on my merry way.
> 
> LSS, here I am with the request. The requestor didn’t give any specifications on plot or content, so I decided I would just try something out. (And I’ve tried like a million things and none of them turned out so here I am again trying another thing and hoping I can just get it fucking right for once).
> 
> Sooooo I present to you the Marching Band AU that nobody asked for.

**What Happens on the Band Bus… Stays on the Band Bus**

They were on the last piece. Their show was emotionally and mentally exhausting -- not to mention physically, with how complicated their drills were, and the music was complex and daunting. They pushed through the autumn cold, and played their hearts out.

Duke watched from where he stood on the sidelines for his solo as Atem conducted with harsh, stoic grace. Up there, in his drum major uniform, he looked like a general, or a king, directing his army to victory. It was the last stretch, the last two minutes, but this was the most important part.

Their show was  _ The Odyssey _ , a complicated tale to tell in fifteen minutes, but here, where Duke was blasting his brain out through the horn of his saxophone, Odysseus had finally returned home to slay the men harassing his wife and estate. The culmination of his harrowing journey. 

The culmination of  _ their  _ harrowing journey. From regionals, to state, and, now,  _ nationals. _

Duke couldn’t feel his fingers, but he wasn’t sure if it was the chill or his nerves but he’d  _ memorized this _ , played it over and over again until he heard it in his dreams and nightmares alike. And it was barely noticeable -- it seemed like Atem kept his eyes forward, but Duke  _ swore  _ he saw those piercing maroon irises cut to him in approval. 

He puffed his chest out, ripped through the thirty-second note runs like it was no one’s business.

On the field, marchers and color guard members fell to their knees -- or the color guard members just fell, since they didn’t have fragile instruments to worry about -- as Marik, their Odysseus, ‘killed’ the last of his usurpers. 

They belted the last notes out, broad and grand, the pit thrumming and rolling, and a last simultaneous crash of the bass drum and the crash symbol signalled the end of their show. They had but a few seconds to bask in the roaring applause from the stands before they were scurrying about to clear their props and instruments from the field in time for the next band to begin.

“You did a splendid job, Duke,” a deep voice, surprisingly close, said lowly.

It was Atem, his eyes forward, but Duke smirked, gloved fingers thrumming on the brass of his saxophone. “Why, thank you. You didn’t do half-bad yourself, Atem.”

Finally, a sideways glance, and Atem looked entirely too smug -- a facial expression everyone knew he made when they totally blew the show out of the water.

There was many things Atem was prideful of, but most of all his fellow band members.

“I did half the work,” Seto Kaiba rumbled (Atem’s fellow trumpet player and also drum major who conducted for the first two pieces of the show).

“Oh my gosh, congrats, Kaiba. Here’s the validation you ordered,” Duke snapped, but he was still smiling widely. Everyone was too high on adrenaline to be genuinely nasty.

There were only a couple more bands in their flight to play, and then they would hear their scores. 

But, this time, no one was nervous about a bad one.

* * *

“And, finally, the Domino City Marching Band, placing first nationally with a score of 98.”

Excitement rippled through the band -- it was palpable -- but they all remained silent and professional. Even if they all wanted to scream until they were blue in the face.

* * *

Duke groaned in relief when he took his bucket off. His long black hair was a messy topknot, just barely tamed by innumerable bobby pins and what had to be at least five hair ties.

Tea, section member and the one who had tried to contain all of his hair, chuckled sheepishly. "Let me help you with that…"

He smiled at her. "I kinda hate you right now."

She sputtered and raised her palms defensively. "It's not my fault that your hair is basically a liquid."

"Whatever, just get these damn things out."

The hair ties tugged unpleasantly, and Duke would grunt. Tea hissed her apologies, and tried to be gentler. He idly picked bobby pins out in the meantime. Pieces of glossy black hair fell down about his shoulders and face, and a small pile of pins was developing next to his thigh. 

"Pfft, you look like that chick from The Ring," Bakura snickered.

"Wow, thanks. Fuck off."

"He's not wrong," Tea sang.

Someone else laughed, a deep, ringing kind of laugh, Atem's laugh, and then a slender bronzed finger was prying at his hair to get a look at his face. "Are you under this pile of hair, Duke?"

"Okay, this is bullshit. You all have equally crazy, if not crazier hair," Duke complained, but his one unhindered eye met Atem's. They were glittering and bright, and he was flashing one of his rare, toothy grins. 

"You're not wrong," Tea once again sang, and she finally freed him of the last tie.

He immediately combed his fingers -- it really was like liquid, slipping between his fingers like black water -- through the strands. He grimaced. He took damn good care of his hair, and this was just a travesty. 

"Maybe Duke's crazy hair gives us good luck," Yugi chirped from wear he was peeling off his uniform. Underneath, everyone wore plain black clothes. 

In the background, one could hear Duke squawk " _ My  _ crazy hair?!"

But Atem's voice cut above them all. "We didn't get first place because of luck." And his maroon irises met everyone's in turn in a steady, approving glance. "It was pure skill. I'm so very proud of all of you. Now let's go home."

* * *

It was a long bus ride back to Domino City. But, thankfully, the band boosters had rented them three commercial buses for comfort on the fourteen hour ride back. 

The adrenaline of the competition and the rush of victory had yet to fade. Outside the windows, the occasional lights alongside the highway streaked by in the dark. But the backmost lights inside the bus was lit. 

“This is so childish,” Kaiba grumbled.

“And yet, you’re still here, so you must be interested in playing,” Tea said back with no small amount of snark.

It was a cluster of them propped on the backs of seats and leaning into the aisle. Tea, Kaiba, Joey, Yugi, Ryou, Marik, Bakura, Duke, and, last buy by no means least, Atem.

“I’ll go first,” Yugi offered eagerly. “Dare.”

“Oh my god,” Marik exclaimed, “I dare you to say ‘cunt.’”

“That’s fucking lame,” Bakura said, droll.

“No, it’s not,” Marik insisted. “I have never heard Yugi swear before, so I picked the crudest word I could think of.”

Yugi frowned, face a little red. “Cunt.” He said it simply, but Marik, Bakura, Joey, and Bakura all curled over with laughter.

“All right, that was actually kind of hilarious,” Bakura admitted. “And you didn’t even stutter. You have newfound respect from me, Yugi.”

Yugi rolled his eyes. 

Atem leaned over the aisle to speak quietly into Duke’s ear. “Yugi actually curses like a sailor in private. Don’t let the innocent facade fool you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Next was Tea.

“Truth.”

“Aw, boring!” Joey groused.

“Not necessarily,” Ryou murmured.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing your parents have ever caught you doing?” Duke supplied.

“That’s a good one,” Atem said, smirking, eyes focussed on Tea.

She warily eyed the pack of teenaged boys surrounding her. “Okay, I got it.”

Everyone collectively leaned forward. 

“So, I was like, I don’t know, six or seven when I learned about reproduction and everything.”

Collective smirks from the guys. 

“I wanted this new doll, but my mom said no. We were in a tight patch at the time. My dad got laid off for a couple months, so we were pinching pennies and stretching every dollar,  _ just in case _ . Anyways, the neighbor boy that I was friends with at the time -- he’s like a year younger than me and they ended up moving away, but  _ anyway _ \-- he had a bunch of action figures and stuff. Male ones. And I had all these girl barbies.”

Yugi facepalmed. “I can already see where this is going.”

Tea grimaced a smile and nodded slowly. “So I thought, if we can’t afford to  _ buy _ dolls, I could… make one…?”

Everybody laughed. Tea’s face flushed darker. 

“So I borrowed the neighbor boy’s action figures… and… I… y’know… put them all together in some pretty  _ compromising _ positions…”

She had to pause as Joey and Bakura cackled like maniacs. She pursed her lips. 

“And my grandmother found them. I had  _ never _ heard her scream so much. And then my mom came home and I explained to her what happened, and she just laughed and laughed. And then later my dad and uncle found out, and there was even more laughing and I was crying and confused.” She looked into the distance. “Thinking about it now makes me die a little inside.” She lifted her shoulders. “They ended up getting me the doll I wanted.”

“Okay, nobody can top that truth,” Tristan said.

Next was Joey. Seto dared him to lick the floor -- and of course he made some dog comments, but Joey, despite all his anger was not one to back down from a dare. 

Everyone grimaced watching him.

“It tastes like dirt,” Joey slurred, his tongue still hanging out and his nose scrunched up.

“Gross!”

“It’s better than tasting like the dog shit somebody stepped in,” Bakura chortled.

Then came Duke.

“Dare.”

“It’s time for my revenge, Duke!” Tea exclaimed. “Let me draw on that pretty face of yours!”

“Oh god,” he groaned, but sat still as she inched forward with a pen she procured from somewhere.

Above his lips, down his chin, around his eyes -- she was very gentle the whole time, which he appreciated. 

Joey catcalled.

Tea, smirking all the while, capped her pen and huddled close to take a selfie with him. 

A drawn-on handlebar mustache and goatee, with thick round glasses around his green eyes. He looked ridiculous.

He batted her away when she went to take a second photo. "Enough. A photo shoot wasn't part of the deal." 

"Holy shit, now you kinda look like the guy from  _ V For Vendetta _ ," Bakura crowed.

"I don't think he wore glasses," Yugi murmured.

“It’s only vaguely reminiscent,” Kaiba commented.

They turned to the next person in their rotation.

Atem, their affable but imperturbable drum major.

The tilt of his lips hinted to a smirk. “Dare.”

Everyone exchanged a glance.

Yugi leaned forward, grinning eerily into his twin’s face. “I dare you to kiss the person you find the most attractive on this bus.”

There was not a person the vicinity, even those who were not playing but just observing or listening, who did not freeze in their seat.

Even Atem seemed stunned, his maroon eyes blinking wide. 

Yugi sank into his seat, arms crossed and far too pleased with himself.

Atem’s eyes narrowed dangerously with a look that anyone could read as  _ you’ll pay for this later, brat _ .

He shifted forward, his eyes darting to the front where all the band parents were gathered. Everyone watched with bated breath as he leaned forward, into the aisle… and right into Duke’s personal space. His hot, slender fingers clasped Duke’s chin, and then Duke was meeting those sparkling maroon eyes.

Which came closer and closer until Duke’s eyes fell shut, and then smooth, warm lips were pressing into his own and he could feel the puff of Atem’s breath on his face.

Either everyone was watching in stunned silence, or Duke’s ears were no longer functioning properly, because all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears as he languidly kissed back. Atem softly mouthed for a few seconds before pulling back, his fingertips skimming under Duke's jaw.

"Holy shit," someone muttered, but Duke's eyes were focussed on Atem's darkened ones.

And then Atem winked. "What can I say? I enjoy a man with facial hair."

Duke frowned and swatted Atem's hand away, though he still chortled a bit. "What? So once it's all washed off I'm just chopped liver?"

"I didn't say that," Atem replied lowly, and everyone had to pick their jaws off the floor before they could continue the game.

* * *

"It should be noted that Atem wasn't told where he had to kiss but went for the lips anyway," Ryou astutely mentioned later on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Not only did this turn out, this turned out just like I wanted it to. There are definitely some things about marching band and marching band competitions that I left out, but hey, this is just a oneshot (also, why the fuck isn’t there a marching band anime yet? Like, c’mon that would be so cool). 
> 
> So, someone requested a sequel to the Principleshipping oneshot I wrote (the one with Djinn!Otogi and Mahad, in case any of you forgot), so that will be our last chapter before I start Hatshipping Vol. II. *party poppers*
> 
> Next Up: Principeshipping (Duke Devlin/Ryuuji x Mahad)


	30. Principleshipping, The Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Principleshipping (Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi x Mahad)
> 
> This ended up being just over 9,000 words long with 4,080 of those words being of the smutty variety (per request). Obviously, I just kinda let this run its own course and when I got to the serious smut I let them do what they wanted and they wanted to… well, you’ll see. 
> 
> I guess we’re ending this with a BANG (LOL)

**Destined to Be**

The sunlight pouring onto his face stained the backs of his eyelids a dusky orange. He breathed deeply and basked in the warmth. When his chest expanded so greatly, a twinge of pain spasmed in his abdomen. He coughed in response, and it only wracked his body and made it that much more uncomfortable. 

“Mahad!”

Hot, gentle hands cupped his face.

When his eyes languidly blinked open, all he saw was warm gold and glittering green. “Ryuuji.” His tongue felt heavy and dry, like he had eaten a mouthful of sand.

“Let me --” and one hot hand was pressed right where the pain was.

His arm felt so heavy and liquid, But he managed to wrap his fingers around a delicate, smooth wrist. “No. Don’t waste magic on something so trivial.”

Ryuuji scoffed hotly, and Mahad felt his own lips twitch into a small smile. 

“I have much more magic than you could ever hope to have, and I have seen you use spells for smaller ailments,” Ryuuji huffed.

“How I use my magic is my own business,” Mahad replied, eyes falling heavily shut again.

“And mine is mine, as well!” And another hand joined the first one.

“I enjoy being human. Let me feel pain like one, too,” was Mahad’s murmured response.

“Must you be so difficult?” Ryuuji growled.

“I suppose I must.”

Ryuuji’s hands softened, brushing up the skin of Mahad’s chest to cup his cheeks again. “I don’t relish seeing you in pain.” Mahad felt Ryuuji’s sigh rush against his skin. “But I shall respect your wishes.”

“Mm, you have my gratitude,” Mahad breathed. “Your warmth brings me comfort, Ryuuji. Lie closer?”

“Of course.” And his overwhelming aura of magic and heat was settling gently against Mahad on his uninjured side. His cheek settled on Mahad’s chest. Mahad lifted an arm to wrap it loosely about the Djinn curling into him. Hair, soft like silk and so long, brushed against his skin. He could  _ feel _ Ryuuji’s breath hitch. He was long and lean, thin but firm and flexible. “Anything you wish, Mahad,” he whispered. His breath fanned Mahad’s skin. It jolted through his nerves, hot as lightning but cold as ice, and Mahad felt his flesh prickle with goosebumps. 

Mahad chuckled, languidly twined his finger into those endless black strands. “It sounds as though you mean to pamper me like a prince.”

Lips, soft and warm and smooth, puckered against his skin. “I’d worship you if you would only let me. I’d build great halls in your honor, monuments that would never fall. I’d carve your name into every mountain for all to see.” Perhaps from others, these would simply be words of flattery, but from a being like Ryuuji… he most certainly could do all these things with but a snap of his fingers.

“I don’t deserve these things,” Mahad whispered. “I am but a simple man, a priest devoted to king and country. There are greater men to dedicate these things to.”

“No, Mahad,” Ryuuji said, suddenly sitting up, and Mahad opened his eyes slowly to watch how those green eyes burned so passionately. “There are no men greater than you.” He shook his head slower. “Not in my eyes.” He leaned down, his hair spilling down and curtaining them and brushing along Mahad’s skin sensuously. His palm laid over Mahad’s chest, where, inside, his heart thrummed against his ribs. “No man has a heart purer, kinder than yours. I’d sooner find a four-headed snake than meet a living creature as loyal and selfless as you.”

Mahad reached up to cup that glowing cheek. “You could conjure a four-headed snake from mist easily.”

“Accept my damn compliments, you oaf!”

Mahad laughed softly, his thumb skimming over regal cheekbones. “So be it. Your words warm my heart and fill me with happiness.” His heart stuttered in his chest when the Djinn nuzzled into his palm. “The fact that you regard me so highly is utterly wondrous and humbling.” He smiled, slow and syrupy with exhaustion, blood loss, and affection. “Does this please you?”

Fine, shapely lips pursed. “I suppose.”

Mahad’s thumb traced their soft edges, and his eyes followed helplessly. “In all the world, there is no creature as resplendent as you, Ryuuji,” he whispered when Ryuuji kissed his thumb. “Tell me, where are we?”

“An inn near the state house,” Ryuuji replied, eyes closing, and he leaned even further into Mahad’s touch.

“And not the state house itself? I believe several of my belongings reside in the room the governor provided for us.”

Ryuuji’s eyes narrowed, fierce. “I have my suspicions of that place; I have reason to believe the men who accosted us are from the state house. I would not return you there in this state.”

“Understandable,” Mahad replied. 

“And I summoned your belongings here,” Ryuuji added. 

“Of course,” came Mahad’s murmur, and his hand slid back to Ryuuji’s neck, and those silky strands were so easily tangled in his fingers. “I have a question for you, one I am sure will stir your ire, but I must know the answer…” 

“Anything,” Ryuuji whispered

“Do you remain at my side because of duty, because of perceived debt to me for freeing you?” He studied deeply those vivid green irises, but they were an ageless well of secrets.

“No.” Ryuuji was entirely emphatic, the golden glow of his skin intensifying. “I remain here with you because I can imagine no where else to be but by your side.”

“I presume then that if I ask to once again drink of your kisses, you will allow it not out of obligation to me but because you wish to taste my lips in return?” Mahad croaked.

“Oh, most definitely, I wish it,” Ryuuji breathed. “I’ve wished it for so long.”

A breathy laugh, “Let us partake,” and Ryuuji was leaning down to join their lips. Mahad’s fingers trembled in Ryuuji’s hair, against his cheek, as their kisses melted between them and bled into their skin like sunshine. Ryuuji was warm and sweet and tender. His long fingers cupped Mahad’s jaw before sliding down to caress the side and back of his neck. 

“Tell me, Ryuuji, how long you’ve yearned to kiss me,” Mahad asked low, his husky voice unrecognizable to even himself.

“When I returned with you to the royal palace, and you provided a bed for me because you would have felt guilty otherwise. I knew then you were truly cut from a different cloth than my previous masters,” Ryuuji readily supplied. 

“You thought me silly, didn’t you?” Mahad said, chuckling, lips trembling at the corner of Ryuuji’s.

“Perhaps.” Ryuuji’s voice was thick with humor. “But I knew you considerate, kind, and honorable.” He nipped at Mahad’s upper lip. “Though that was when I knew I wanted to kiss you, I didn’t come to be completely besotted by you until you made your first wish.” He kissed the bridge of Mahad’s nose. “Strong.” His lips. “Noble.” But his eyes were wide open and staring into Mahad’s own. “So caring and devoted. As I found, the perfect concoction to bring me to my knees.”

Mahad’s hand tightened in that abyssal hair, and Ryuuji closed his eyes and whimpered against Mahad’s lips. Mahad kissed him, slow and tender but burning. When he’d kissed Ryuuji breathless, he pulled the Djinn up so he could have the room to pant and speak.

“I knew you to be the most beautiful man I’d ever see when I first laid eyes upon you,” Mahad admitted. “Though at the time you were most dangerous to me, unassuming but deadly as an adder. And then I came to know your heart, the warmth stifled by those before me.” Mahad’s eyes softened, repentant. “I was selfish, Ryuuji.”

“Never,” Ryuuji croaked back.

“No, I was, utterly. I hesitated to make my final wish because I feared losing you. I wanted your presence near me, and I couldn’t bear to send you back to that accursed urn, and I was certain you would leave if I set you free. Forgive me.”

“I cannot forgive if you have done no wrong,” Ryuuji insisted. “You foolish man.”

“When I was sure I would meet my end, I knew I couldn’t let you remain imprisoned, enslaved for eternity.”

“I adore you.” The whisper was rough but soft as the breeze.

“Then grant me this wish…” Mahad replied. 

“Yes, anything.”

“I grow weary again. Rest here with me. Lay in this bed with me and let me feel your warmth as I sleep.”

“Of course. You need not say more.”

They shared one last kiss before they settled back down. Ryuuji was in his arms, and he smelled so sweetly of lotus and pomegranates, and the scent lulled Mahad back to the warm abyss of sleep.

* * *

His next time waking up, sometime in the evening, occurred much more easily and with far less pain. 

His mouth was still arid as the desert, and he rolled his tongue uncomfortable as he slowly awakened. Gentle hands, Ryuuji’s hands, slowly tugged him until he was sitting up, and then the rim of a clay cup brushed his lips. He lifted his own hands up to grasp the cup and Ryuuji’s hand and smiled thankfully to the Djinn that eyed him so carefully.

“Much better,” he hummed after a few healthy gulps.

Ryuuji set the cup aside. He slowly stood. “Your robe was torn and drenched in blood.” He lifted up clean linen. “I fixed it.” Though they both knew it was a simple task for him to magic it better. 

Mahad swung his legs over the bed. Beneath the sheet falling from his body, he was just in his undergarments. “Are you so determined to wait on me hand and foot?”

“When you are injured, yes. I thought I had healed all of it earlier, but it appears as though I was wrong. And now you demand that I resist my urge to repair it,” Ryuuji replied, rather testily.

“I am fine,” Mahad replied softly, gesturing to his body, where not even a scar was left behind.

“The pain earlier--”

“My frail human mind, I’m sure.” Mahad stood, easily, steadily. “Human bodies cannot possibly be used to a wound instantaneously healing. I’m certain my subconscious was slow on the uptake.”

“If you say so.”

Mahad craned his neck down to brush a kiss to the Djinn’s pouting lips. “I am grateful for the concern, Ryuuji.”

Mahad accepted the robe from his hands and dressed.

Those verdant eyes stayed locked on him all the while, and he felt heat rush to his cheeks.

Ryuuji hummed, toned arms crossing. “If it weren’t for how I perceived your state, I may have been inclined to grope you as you slept.”

Mahad sputtered.

One of those slender, golden hands waved dismissively. “Banish such embarrassment. I assure you, we both would have enjoyed ourselves immensely.”

Mahad’s tongue was in a tangled web in his mouth. Instead of looking into those sparkling, sultry green eyes, he focused on tying the sash to his robe.

A chuckle, purring and hungry thrummed on the air, and then that silky voice -- all hot and breathy -- was simpering right into his ear from behind. “When I say I want to worship you, I mean in the absolute  _ best _ of ways.”

Mahad whirled, but Ryuuji was already gone, instead a hot wave rolling over his back again. Ryuuji pressed right into him, warm and firm and lithe and making the blood in Mahad’s veins boil hot. Those hands rested just briefly on his sides and slithered over his ribs and crept up his pectoral muscles. A gentle flash of teeth on the cartilage of his ear, and he heard the hiss of Ryuuji’s breath. These sensual touches left a burning trail, and the sensation sunk down into his very bones. He trembled where he stood. It’d been so long since he’d been  _ touched _ like this…

“I want to pleasure you until my touch is carved into your soul...” he gently, desirously clawed down Mahad’s chest, “... like my palms are impressed upon it, so only my hands could fit,” Ryuuji whispered, a tangle of tongue and teeth and lips at Mahad’s earlobe. 

Mahad panted, turned his head just enough to brush his cheek against Ryuuji’s. That inky black hair floated about them as if suspended in a pond. “It’s already so,” Mahad croaked, his own hands closing over the ones enticing him. 

Ryuuji moaned, a soft, broken sound, and leaned his cheek more firmly against Mahad’s. They watched together as Ryuuji’s hands -- with Mahad’s laid atop them -- hungrily inched across his heaving chest. “It’s already so,” Ryuuji echoed, one hand peregrinating down. “Yes,” it was a growling moan, pushed out between clenched jaws as he palmed where Mahad was swelling with desire. “I cannot help but feel your body was made for me to touch it.” Mahad couldn’t help how he spasmed, how his head fell back against Ryuuji’s flowing hair and firm shoulder. Heat rushed under his skin, and he felt sweat bead beneath his robe. He panted so hotly he wondered if he would dry out his lungs and they would shrivel up and he would suffocate in this inferno.

Ryuuji’s breath was just as hot in his ear, and that second wily hand slid up, and with perfect precision, his fingers rolled over Mahad’s nipple through his robe. A groan punched  _ through _ Mahad, made him jolt, and it left his quivering lips without any chance of it being restrained.

“Or maybe, all those eons ago when I came to be,  _ my hands _ were created for  _ this, _ ” Ryuuji hissed, as his hands assailed Mahad’s senses in tandem. “Created for  _ you _ , my beloved Mahad.”

Mahad’s head bowed to the side, his neck tight with tension as Ryuuji was quick to press his lips to the bared skin, and the cry that tore from Mahad rattled them both to the bones. 

This was  _ too much -- too much, too fast _ , and that pressure was building, like electricity in the air before a supercell storm, before that first bolt of lightning split the sky asunder like divine fury and snapped the tension and brought down the pounding rain. 

And Ryuuji was touching him faster,  _ firmer _ , fingers gripping and sliding over fabric that concealed hot flesh.

Mahad was sure he was saying something. Perhaps he was saying Ryuuji’s name. Perhaps he was beginning him to stop. Perhaps he was begging him for  _ more, more, more _ . But in the fevered delirium, he couldn’t tell down from up, much less what sounds he made. 

But he could  _ feel _ when Ryuuji’s hand crept away, towards his armpit. He whimpered at the loss, but then that hot hand was slithering into the short sleeve of his robe and up to the bare skin. The pad of Ryuuji’s thumb brushed over his bare nipple and then it was pressing in firm circles directly on it. Pinching, rubbing, and Mahad’s bones were melting inside his body and pouring out through his mouth and from his wildly bucking hips. He was nuzzling roughly into Ryuuji’s smooth cheek and panting against his skin in hitching, moaning breaths as the storm broke and left devastation in its wake. His hands were clenching over Ryuuji’s, holding them to his body as the thunder crashed through his limbs.

“Oh yes, give it to me,” Ryuuji was hissing. “Mine eyes have never seen a sight so glorious.”

The tension faded, and left Mahad standing there, trembling and on the verge of falling to his knees.

“Ry-Ryuuji,” he gasped against the other’s neck.

The other hummed, eyes half-lidded, and he continued to gently play with Mahad’s oversensitive body. “Delectable.” He was warm at Mahad’s back wrapped around him like this, and Mahad let his weight slump back against the Djinn.

Mahad reached back, trembling fingers tangling in hair and brushing Ryuuji’s jaw to turn him for a kiss. His whisper against Ryuuji’s lips came out brokenly, “Please --”

A loud banging at the door interrupted him.

They both jolted, startled, and Mahad stumbled out of Ryuuji’s grasp. He nearly crumpled, his knees wobbling, but he gripped the back of a chair so hard his knuckles turned white. 

The banging at the door started again. 

“One moment!” Ryuuji called, perfectly composed as if he hadn’t just turned Mahad into a debauched mess. His hot hand petted down Mahad’s back soothingly, lower each stroke.

“Ryuuji!” Mahad tried to hiss, but it came out as a croak when Ryuuji’s mischievous hand gripped salaciously at the flesh of his buttocks. 

“You’re in no state to greet guests,” Ryuuji purred. “I’ll attend to the door.”

Mahad could only glare halfheartedly as Ryuuji’s levitation ceased, his hair settling, his feet touching the door. He sauntered to the door. It creaked open.

From the silhouette looming outside came the glinting flash of metal. 

Mahad gasped, but Ryuuji caught the attacker’s wrist and with the slightest twitch, hurled the man directly into their room. He landed in a loud, disheveled heap, and when Ryuuji snapped his fingers, an unseen force wrenched the man onto his knees and viciously yanked his arms behind his back. The man cried in pain, his face a rictus of agony. 

Mahad could feel Ryuuji’s power, overwhelming and awesome, swell through the air. 

Mahad moved to turn, to completely face the assailant, but when he noticed that evidence of their… activities was staining the front of his robes, he remained in his awkward position and moved and refolded the linen until all was hidden. Cheeks aflame, he finally pivoted. Ryuuji was levitating, hovering parallel to the ground as if he was lounging on thin air, his chin on his knuckles and staring blankly into his prisoner’s pained eyes. 

“I’ll have you know that you interrupted some  _ very _ important business,” Ryuuji drawled, and Mahad pressed a hand to his burning face. “And since I am not fond of my business being interrupted, I suppose mercy is not at the forefront of my mind,” Ryuuji continued, slender fingers thrumming rhythmically on his elegant jaw. “In other words, tell me what reasons you have for accosting me and my…” he paused, dark eyebrows lifting up. “... companion.”

The man’s face twisted into a snarl, and he spat on Ryuuji’s cheek.

Unimpressed, Ryuuji wiped the saliva away, and his eyes narrowed. The man cried in agony, and Mahad stepped forward, hand raised. But the screaming faded into sniffling whimpers.

“You’d do well not to test me, mortal,” Ryuuji said lowly, and the building vibrated on its foundation at the otherworldly power behind his voice. “You and your companions nearly killed the man I hold most dear, and now I hold your life in my grip.” Mahad could sense it, how Ryuuji’s magic was coiled around the attacker like a giant fist. “It would be no feat to end you where you are now.” The magic tensed threateningly, and the man in its grip yelped. “Tell me what I need to know, or suffer the consequences. Who sent you, worm?”

“The governor!” the man cried, tears trailing down his face. “The governor!”

Mahad and Ryuuji simultaneously froze.

“And he wanted me, did he not?” Ryuuji hissed.

“H-He wanted us to kill your master, and he would have your urn for himself!” The man was sobbing now.

Ryuuji hummed, but his stoic face was wrought with anger beneath. “You are dismissed, scum.” He waved his hand, and the air around the man shimmered like heat, and then he was gone.

“Where did you send him?” Mahad asked after blinking deliriously as the spot where the assailant had been but seconds before.

Ryuuji rolled a shoulder. “The middle of the Arabian desert.”

“Ryuuji!” Mahad gasped, horrified. 

“He clearly had the gall to face a renowned magician of  _ your _ caliber; What do you think he is capable of doing to those weaker than him? Those who are helpless? I could  _ smell _ the blood staining his filthy hands,” Ryuuji replied, now vertical and sinking back to the floor. “It was a choking miasma, I assure you.”

Mahad frowned grimly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“At any rate, we now know the identity of the man hunting us. My intuition proved correct -- the state house is a den of snakes,” he spat.

Mahad nodded, grave. “We shall go and confront that scheming governor.” He shifted, and his cheeks immediately set fire to themselves. “I… must make myself presentable first.”

Ryuuji hummed. Those green eyes scanned him up and down slowly, thoroughly. “You seem immaculate to me.”

Mahad scoffed hotly. “I shall  _ not _ walk amongst the decent public with such a filthy mess clinging to me.”

Mahad barely had to blink before Ryuuji was kneeling before him and slithering up to grasp his clothed thighs and staring at him in such a sultry, predatory manner. “ _ I  _ can clean you of it,” he breathed, and his pink tongue swiped lewdly over his shapely lips. 

“The  _ things _ that spill from your tongue,” Mahad gasped, but his voice was deep and breathy. Truly, Ryuuji looked far too appealing, all eager and  _ hungry _ like this, and he had thought himself a man of stronger constitution, but the hands kneading at his inner thighs were threatening to undo him a second time. It’d been so long that he’d experienced such pleasure, and Ryuuji was offering in spades. 

“Let me taste you,” Ryuuji said, low and seductive. Dark, tender promises of ecstasy lurked in those jewel-like green eyes. “I want every part of you and this is no exception.”

Mahad lowered his shaking hand and threaded it through that dark hair. It slipped and slid between his fingers so fluidly. Ryuuji instantly interpreted that as an invitation and leaned forward to nuzzle below Mahad’s navel. He gasped, eyes snapping back up to Mahad’s face when the hand in his hair tightened and dragged him back gently but firmly.

“The next we experience pleasure, it will be together,” Mahad said, and he tried to be firm but his breath was still catching in his throat. “I’ve never desired more than to be so close to you, in any capacity, but we haven’t the time to do this. We have business to attend to at the state house, and, after what has occurred, we will expedite our plans to return home.” 

Those sensuous lips pursed, and Ryuuji slowly stood, elegant, and his eyes stared deeply into Mahad’s own. “Always so dutiful,” he sighed, but he leaned up, and suddenly he was hovering again, his hair drifting about them, perfectly on level with Mahad. His arms twined around Mahad’s neck, and he pressed their foreheads together. “Though I suppose it  _ is _ one of the reasons you are so dear to me.”

Mahad brushed his nose across Ryuuji’s own and allowed the Djinn to steal one last kiss before he stepped back from the embrace. 

“Grant me but a moment and we will be off for the state house.”

* * *

It was indeed a short walk to the state house. Several more armed goons accosted them along the way, but Mahad’s and Ryuuji’s combined magical abilities easily kept them at bay. They strode right through the door and into the courtyard. Luckily for them, the governor himself was ambling about that evening, a trail of guests following behind him. 

His head snapped over, and he had the gall to  _ smirk _ . Ryuuji bit down on a snarl, but rage still crackled in his veins. 

“Ah, Priest Mahad, I was concerned. You did not return at the expected time last night. The whole house was in a panic.”

“Governor Ercoles, duplicity does not befit you,” Mahad replied. “Or perhaps it befits you in its entirety.”

“I know not to what you refer, my friend,” Erocoles jibed, and his entourage laughed alongside him. 

“I refer to your underhanded plot to murder me in cold blood to possess he who is not for possession,” Mahad called, stern, staff raised to point at the governor, and Ryuuji could only imagine a righteous god casting judgment on wretched mortals. 

The governor’s face darkened, but then he was smirking again. But Ryuuji could sense it, the malice and greed lurking beneath the affable mask. 

“That’s a hefty accusation to blatantly toss around,” Erocoles replied, chin tipping up, affronted and daring.

“It was said so by one who dared to accost my companion and me as we rested,” Mahad declared, his voice deep and thunderous and echoing in the courtyard. “You wished me dead so Ryuuji would be returned to his prison! In the wake of my demise, you would release him and demand of him three wishes to fulfill whatever dark desires fill the thoughts of a depraved man like you!”

The mask cracked and fell away and revealed the face of the depraved man of which Mahad spoke. He gnashed his teeth like a hyena, hissed like an adder. “It would be a better use of it. I would not keep it as a  _ pet _ as you do!”

Mahad’s lips curled into a snarl. “ _ He _ is no man’s pet, least of all any man’s property!”

“Do you even hear the words coming from your mouth, fool?” Erocoles spat. “Going on and on about this idiocy when the Djinn is  _ bound _ to you! Do you think such a creature would hang about such a witless mortal of its own volition?!”

Ryuuji could only laugh, but Mahad ignored him.

“Open your eyes, Erocoles. No longer is he bound by his curse; his golden shackles are gone! When your hired goons cut me a mortal wound, I used my last wish to grant Ryuuji his freedom,” Mahad replied. 

Erocoles wildly stared at Ryuuji, scanned his arms, which were bare of any restraints just as Mahad had said. 

Ryuuji spread his arms widely, his golden glow intensifying as he lifted from the ground. His hair and robes billowed about him. 

“It is true. I have been liberated, and while Mahad may no longer be my master, it is he who holds my undying loyalty. You are a vile, greedy man, and even if your schemes had come to pass, every wish that spilled forth from your lips I would twist into your worst nightmare. It is only by Mahad’s benevolence that I do not smite you where you stand, unworthy cur.”

Erocoles’s horrible visage only frothed hotter with rage. “You idiotic magician!” He threw an arm out. “Seize them!” he cried to the guards who had gathered at the commotion.

The guards hesitated, if only for the moment; however, they had to take but a step forward before they were frozen once again.

Ryuuji felt his magic crackle in his veins. It had been so long since he felt his power in its entirety course through him, and he had forgotten the feeling of  _ invincibility _ . At the twitch of his fingers, he could rend them asunder as if they were but puffs of cotton. Instead, they were all thrown back against the walls of the courtyard.

He pointed at that wretched man who trembled in his sandals. Thick, sparking clouds of smoke roiled about him. His eyes glowed an eerie green in the dim of the closing dusk. 

“You shall never know again the pleasure of a lover’s touch, for if your machinations had fruited, I’d never of mine. You shall never indulge in your wealth again, for it was your greed that motivated your murderous intentions. You shall never know the satisfaction of realizing your endeavors, for mine nearly crumbled before my eyes because of you. Nothing you can say, do, or conjure will negate these things. With these words, I curse thee!” he bellowed, and the words boomed like thunder or a volcano erupting. 

Erocoles fell to his knees in the sand of the courtyard, and then he collapsed face-first into the ground. People rushed to him, but Ryuuji was no longer paying attention; he was touching his magician’s arm.

“Let us take our leave of this place,” he begged quietly.

Mahad, eyes wide, had barely nodded before darkness swallowed them.

* * *

Just as quickly, they were washed in moonlight. The ocean hissed and roared as it lapped at the beach sand. A gentle, cool, briny breeze blew and brushed softly against Mahad’s face. He wildly looked about.

Yes, they were now on some unknown beach, where the sand was stained a most breathtaking silver by the moonlight, and where the calm sea glittered and gleamed like onyx. The long, feathery fronds of the palms susurrated so sweetly, like the whispers of a tender lover. It was a nighttime paradise, serene and beautiful.

“Where are we?” Mahad asked, whispering as though his voice would shatter this image and it would fall away into the void.

“A deserted island,” Ryuuji said back, just as quietly, but he stepped close, a blazing aura of warmth in the cool of this seaside night. Mahad shivered at the difference. “I’m sure we are the first men to step upon it in a very long time, if ever.”

Mahad turned his head to look at his companion, and his breath caught in his throat. Ryuuji was always beautiful, but he seemed most resplendent at night, when his glow was not masked by the sun, when he looked like some mirage in the moonlight. Mahad gingerly touched his smooth cheek with his knuckles, as if the Djinn would crumble away to dust with one wrong touch.

“And why here?” Mahad whispered.

Ryuuji smiled softly and gripped that hand in his own, so tender and soft despite his overwhelming power. He nuzzled his cheek into the back of Mahad’s hand and then pressed a soft kiss to it. “We’ll return to Khemet, I promise you. But even there lurks the possibility of interruption.” He sighed, “I want you for myself for one night, and then your king and country can borrow you for a while.”

Mahad smiled softly, and he traced with his eyes the facing that was staring back at him so adoringly. “Borrow me?”

“I won’t let them have you forever,” Ryuuji replied, childishly petulant, but his eyes were molten with affection. 

Mahad’s heart stuttered and melted in his chest, and he gripped the elegant chin between forefinger and thumb. Thoughts and feelings and words swirled within him, and he lowly gave them voice. “All of who I am is yours. Mahad the Magician, Mahad the Priest, Mahad the Man. No matter what I am doing or who I am…” His breath shuddered between them. “... my heart belongs to you, Ryuuji.”

And then Ryuuji’s hands were cupping his cheeks so warmly and slowly bringing them closer, and then his hot lips were upon Mahad and Mahad could only tremble and return the kiss. Softly mouthing, that was all it was, but it felt like  _ everything _ \-- Ryuuji felt like everything, like the ocean sighing and the stars twinkling and the sands of Khemet blowing in the wind and the lotuses blooming in their ponds. He was the feeling biting into ripe fruit and savoring crisp water on the tongue, and he was the sound of thunder when the rainy season flooded the Nile fat and fertile. He was the scent of pomegranate blossoms and the taste of honey on one’s lips. He was the heat of the sun and the warmth of a gentle touch and the coolness of a summer night. He was the shadows beneath the cypress trees and the glow of a single candle in the dark. 

He was the light that pierced the emptiness of Mahad’s lonely heart.

They parted, but Ryuuji remained close, so close, they tasted each other when they breathed. “Mahad,” he whispered, his voice as raw as his expression, “from the moment you opened that urn I was free.” He brought one of Mahad’s hands to his chest. Mahad could feel it, that heart pounding beneath flesh and bone just like his own. Mahad’s eyes widened. “At your side, I was never a bound, cursed creature.” His words fluttered against Mahad’s lips. “I was blessed. I  _ am _ blessed.” His fingers tangled into Mahad’s long hair, and his own tresses drifted about them like golden black threads. “I never realized that I made a wish, but it was granted all the same when I met you, my beloved Mahad.”

"I love you," Mahad whispered back, and the waves and the palms whispered with him. 

And they were kissing again, and they were pressed so tight together, holding one another so close, that perhaps if there were no fabric separating them they would have bled together. It was a slow, swaying dance, but a spark was lit, and it smoldered in the kindling until a flame sprang up, licking at their feet and their faces and within their hearts. Empassioned, Mahad wrapped tight one arm about Ryuuji’s slender waist and the other cupped his face and twisted into his hair to grip fervently at those inky black tresses. 

“ _ Mahad _ ,” Ryuuji whimpered when Mahad tugged his head back. That jaw, the slender, defined neck, Mahad tasted it all, and he moaned against that smooth skin at the flavor on his tongue. Heady and sensual and  _ electrifying _ , like ambrosia. Ryuuji had the most  _ lovely _ clavicles, and Mahad admired them with hot, hungry kisses, his thumb hooking into the neckline of Ryuuji’s clothing to bare more of his marvelous flesh.

Mahad panted, turn his head to press his face to Ryuuji’s neck as his heart pounded and his vision swam and his fingertips trembled. 

“Never had I felt such yearning as I do for you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yearn no longer,” Ryuuji murmured, just as breathless, and suddenly they were falling back, and where Mahad had been expecting them to land onto the beach sand, instead laid a soft blanket. 

But looking up, there was still the starry night sky and the brilliant silver moon and Ryuuji’s vivid green eyes. 

A soft smile was on his swollen lips, his hands braced next to Mahad’s head, until he sat back, kneeling between Mahad’s knees, and Mahad sat up, too, leaning on his elbows. Ryuuji’s red robes began to sag down, drawing down his shoulders of seemingly their own volition, sashes untying and material parting to reveal golden skin and tones muscles. The material slipped down, down, pooling at his trim waist a moment before it continued, sliding and slithering away from bunched thighs and slim hips, until Ryuuji was bare before him. 

All smooth and glossy and glowing, black hair poured over that beautiful flesh like a waterfall. There, with those verdant eyes, greener than any emerald, it was more than obvious that Ryuuji was closer to god than man. And his divine hand, slender and beautiful but still masculine and long, was gripping Mahad’s and guiding it to the aureate skin of his muscled chest and flattening it there. Ryuuji was warm and firm, sensual, a more stirring sight and sensation than Mahad had even ever conjured in his most erotic dreams. 

“Yearn no longer,” Ryuuji repeated, voice husky and just as dark as his eyes. 

Those beautiful black lashes of his fluttered down, hiding that green from view, as Mahad’s trembling hand slid down, along the firm pectoral and gently-defined abdominals, because Ryuuji was lean but strong, like a leopard. The heat of Ryuuji’s body bled into his palm and fingers as they traced, spread wide but soft. And then he was pushing his hand back up, a slightly different path, cupping and moulding against each part of Ryuuji he touched. Dipping and curling over that alluring collarbone, over the swell of a shoulder that fit just so perfectly under the curve of his palm. 

His other hand tentatively touched one of the knees between his own, and when he glanced at Ryuuji’s face, half-lidded green eyes stared back. Heat spiked through his gut, and, lips trembling, he touched higher, palm dragging along that firm thigh. Muscles and tendons tensed, anticipating, beneath his fingers, until he was cupping one hip. The bone fit perfectly in his grip. 

Yes, he could agree. Their bodies were made for touching each other. 

His other hand slipped down Ryuuji’s chest again to slide around and caress up his spine, under that silky hair to the back of his neck, and Ryuuji leaned in. But Mahad’s lips touched his chin again, down, under it, Ryuuji’s head tipping back as Mahad kissed down his neck. Ryuuji’s panting breaths were just loud enough to be heard over the hissing of the ocean as Mahad mouthed the length of his sternum. He moaned, deep but airy, when Mahad’s tongue caressed his nipple. 

Mahad could only breath hotly against his skin, could only relish the feel of Ryuuji beneath his hands, lips, and tongue. He closed his eyes and sucked gently, and Ryuuji arched, a strained sound pulled from his throat. Mahad’s veins throbbed, his whole body trembled. Hands were in Mahad’s hair, threading and tangling gently, and then one was on his shoulder, pushing him back onto the blanket, Ryuuji following.

Ryuuji’s hair dripped down, sliding over his shoulders and from around his face. Darker than night, the locks swayed in the oceanic breeze. That sight above him… Mahad was mesmerized. Ryuuji rubbed sensually up and down Mahad’s chest, and Mahad’s breathing picked up from the sensation alone. “As much as I would love to dirty this particular piece of clothing for a third time…” Ryuuji began, voice seductive and cheeks flushed with desire, “I am going to disrobe you.”

Mahad nodded, touching Ryuuji’s cheek. “Please do.”

“I could simply magic your clothes right from your body,” Ryuuji murmured, sitting back just the slightest to undo the sash keeping Mahad’s robes to his body, “... but it is a long-held fantasy of mine to slowly peel them away from you.”

“And mine yours, though you denied me the pleasure,” Mahad croaked back, watching those hands delicately smooth the sash away from his body. 

“Next time,” Ryuuji breathed, unraveling the linen folded around Mahad’s form. “Next time, you may strip me at your leisure, my beloved.”

It took but a flash of Mahad’s bare chest for Ryuuji to touch him directly. He pushed his hands outward, toward the ribs, linen wrinkling and folding over his wrists. The slow petting had Mahad arching where he lay, hands falling to grip at the blanket beneath them. 

“You like being touched,” Ryuuji noted, nearly a moan. “And I adore touching you. What a pair we make.” It wasn’t long before Mahad’s linen robes were splayed about at his sides, baring him to the chill of the oceanic night. But Ryuuji was a warm aura above him, washing him in heat, making his cheeks hot and his breaths hotter. “I can tell how long you had denied yourself the touch of another, my dearest,” Ryuuji whispered, one finger trailing along Mahad’s inner thigh and watching it tremble beneath the touch.

“I had not the time for pleasure,” Mahad groaned. His hips bucked that finger traced along the edges of his thin undergarments, simple ones folded about his groin, a choice of comfort. 

“Oh, you did,” Ryuuji purred. “I am not blind, nor am I an idiot. There were plenty of moments for you to rut, hot and fast like an animal with all those willing people around you.” He leaned down, a smirk on his lips but tender affection in his eyes. “I am not the only one who has taken notice of you, Mahad.” Mahad shivered when Ryuuji kissed his chin, when that hair slithered over him and set his nerves alight. “But still you starved yourself,” he whispered, hot, kissing down Mahad’s neck. “Because simple rutting would not,  _ could not _ sate you, could it?” His heat was everywhere, his hands sliding and caressing and melting Mahad wherever they touched, his lips tender but  _ ravenous _ as they mouthed down his heaving chest to his abdomen. 

“It was never a desire of yours to simply  _ orgasm _ ,” Ryuuji continued, tongue flicking momentarily against the hot skin of Mahad’s navel, his hands kneading at the thighs flexing around him. “It is  _ intimacy _ you have always yearned for.” He nibbled at the edge of Mahad’s loincloth, first with his swollen lips and then with his pearly teeth. “When you bring yourself to completion, it’s to thoughts of your lover’s hand entwined with yours as you climax, isn’t it?”

Mahad gasped hotly, delirious eyes taking in the night and the Djinn between his eyes, where golden skin was so close to his own and black hair was spilling so alluringly over his sensitive thighs. “Yes,” he choked out. “Yes, Ryuuji.” It was all true, how he wished to share his  _ soul _ with his partner and not just his body. How he wished to hold close a lover and stare into eyes that were  _ staring back _ , kisses that threatened to consume and desire that ran so much deeper than flesh and blood. 

And here Ryuuji was, granting him a fourth wish. 

And those clever fingers were twisting into the linen and gently pulling it away until Mahad was just as naked as Ryuuji on this deserted beach. 

They both shivered, and Ryuuji’s hands smoothed along thighs and hips and waist. “You are a vision, my dearest one.” Those eyes were hot and liquid and they painted Mahad with desire. "An oasis, a mirage." He crawled back up, swaying shoulders like a predatory cat, looking as exotic as one there in the moonlight. His lips hovered, warm and damp over Mahad's own, and Mahad reached up to cup that beautiful face and kissed his lips. Ryuuji pressed back, all slow and tender and consuming, and he whispered, broken and raw, "I want to taste you. Please, I beg of you, do not deny me this request a second time."

"T-Take of me what you want," Mahad breathed back, "if I can the same of you."

"You've made yourself a deal, Mahad," Ryuuji purred, and he was sinking back down, sliding skin and hair and the occasional fluttering of lips. Mahad breathed tightly, stared up momentarily at the night sky before his fingers tangled in abyssal black silk. 

And then Ryuuji's breath fanned where Mahad was most sensitive, and then it was his lips, his  _ tongue, _ and Mahad choked, thighs shaking beneath golden, kneading hands. Mahad watched that pink tongue, watched those green eyes flutter shut as if in ecstasy before they were open but half-lidded and searing into his very soul. Then shapely lips parted, and Ryuuji was consuming him. Slow, as if Mahad were something to be  _ savored, _ like fine wine or raw honey. 

Mahad couldn't help his cry, his broken sob of pleasure, as Ryuuji worshiped him so intently, so…  _ so _ …

" _ Ryuuji _ ," he gasped, voice thick and choppy with heaving breaths. Ryuuji's hands squeezed affectionately, eyes blinked slowly as he took all of Mahad in and retracted all of him out, this steady, intense rhythm, like the waves crashing on the shore so near them. Mahad's fast breaths parched his lips, but he could only stare down at the man so attentive between his thighs, could only knead his shaking fingers through that silky hair. 

Everything in him was shuddering and sweltering. The sweat on his body gleamed in the moonlight and in Ryuuji's resplendent glow. Those divine hands tugged at his hips, clutched at buttocks, lifted him to those stretched lips, and Mahad whimpered, rolling his hips as Ryuuji obviously wanted. 

It was heartrendingly intimate, the slow pace, the way Ryuuji never once wavered from his eyes, how he held Mahad close, his hair sliding across Mahad's skin with each bob of his head. 

And Ryuuji was pulling off to lap at him with that wet tongue again, and Mahad wanted to cry with relief and with protest. 

"I want to drink you dry," Ryuuji rasped wetly, lips pressed still to Mahad's flesh, "but we'll save that for another time."

And he was crawling back up, but Mahad grabbed his shoulder and the back of his neck to whirl them, to press Ryuuji to the blanket and taste himself on those honey-sweet lips. 

They both gasped, arching, where they were pressed together wet and hot, eager and desirous. 

Mahad took the time to sample the delights of Ryuuji's body, though each kiss and lick was feverish and fervent. "Surely," he moaned, swiping his tongue once again on Ryuuji's nipple, "this is a dream." He pressed his cheek to the heaving abdominals, breathed in the heat of Ryuuji's skin. "Surely, for how could I capture the heart of a creature so divine?" He murmured, sinking lower, where Ryuuji's thighs eagerly parted for him. 

Ryuuji's hands petted his face and stroked through his hair. "I think much the same," he replied, strained. 

Mahad moaned softly, pressed his lips to Ryuuji's swollen flesh, kissed him as thoroughly as he had been kissed. Throaty and lustful, his own name rang in his ears. Mahad panted and lapped. The taste was heady and dizzying and arousing. He eagerly took Ryuuji in, savored that first bit and sucked thoroughly. He looked up as Ryuuji cried with pleasure and fisted the hair in his hands. 

Lips parted, eyes wet with pleasure, brows furrowed with ecstasy. 

He took more, more, heavy and hot on his writhing tongue. Ryuuji mewled, body tensing and arching. He continued that slow pace Ryuuji had set just moments before. Mahad’s eyes fluttered closed as arousal washed up on his insides. 

"L-Look at me," Ryuuji gasped, and Mahad could only obey. 

Thumbs traced under his eyes and over his cheekbones, and he gulped greedily at the flesh in his mouth. Ryuuji's lips stretched wider on another gut-wrenchingly wanton cry, " _ Yes! _ "

Mahad's stomach quivered, and he lowered a hand to stoke the sizzling arousal in his gut. 

"No," Ryuuji reprimanded, mewling, pulling Mahad off of him. 

Mahad dangled there, lips aching and swollen, but he obediently removed his hand from himself.

"When we come, we shall do it as one," Ryuuji panted, pupils blown wide.

They were both sitting up now, breathless and gleaming in the moonlight. Ryuuji leaned forward, and they kissed slowly. Ryuuji's hand traveled down from Mahad's hair, along his spine, then further, where his fingers slid so sensuous, teasing and seductive, parting and tracing.

"I want to pleasure you… here," he whispered, rubbing gently, solicitously. 

"I--" Mahad shuddered, but he shook his head the slightest. “You need not put forth the exertion --”

Fingers firm at his chin cut him off, and Ryuuji’s eyes glittered. “You silly man,” he purred. “It is not a chore, and you needn’t take every responsibility onto your shoulders.” He chuckled, smile sultry and fond. “Would you think it so toilsome to do the same for me?”

“No,” Mahad breathed.

“Then fret not.” The words were a warm breeze against Mahad’s lips. “Unless you truly do not desire it,” Ryuuji added, one black eyebrow arching. 

“I want it,” Mahad assured. “I want you inside me, Ryuuji.”

Ryuuji grunted, nearly mewled, “Those words on your lips -- if I did not know any better, I might have thought that I had died and ascended to paradise.” He nudged at Mahad’s shoulder. “Lay back for me, Mahad.”

Heart pounding, fluttering like a trapped bird, Mahad did as was asked of him. Ryuuji settled between his parted knees, and when those golden fingers touched his thighs, Mahad felt them tremble. The blanket beneath them felt soft beneath Mahad’s eagerly clenching hands, and he arched up, huffing softly, when he felted oiled fingers -- magicked that way, he had no doubt -- trace along him. 

“Mm,” he grunted, feeling one, gentle, press in. 

“By the sands of Arabia,” Ryuuji murmured, tongue swiping across his lips, and then he was leaning down for a kiss. Mahad panted against his lips, draped an arm over his shoulder. The scent of the oil, olives and lavender, blossomed between them. A second finger was swift to join the first. 

Mahad’s head thrashed to the side. It was uncomfortable, but it was  _ good _ , the way Ryuuji’s slender fingers worked into and against him, so tender but so intense. Hot kisses trailed down his neck, the flick of a tongue at his collarbone. 

“Mahad.” The whisper was fervent, like a curse or a prayer, and the ocean echoed it. “Oh, Mahad.”

Three, and Mahad keened lowly through clenched teeth, thighs gripping at Ryuuji, who was swift to press a hand to his knee and pin his legs open again. 

“We will get there, my beloved,” Ryuuji moaned, touching all the right places and making Mahad’s vision swim, but Mahad held him close, pressed his face to his temple as it built, as his whole body bucked and shook. “Just a little longer.”

“Ry-Ryuuji,” he groaned, long and low. “ _ Please _ , my love. I  _ ache,” _ he gasped into his lover’s ear, “I  _ ache _ for you.”

“You’ll have me.” And he pulled back, Mahad’s arm falling from his shoulders, and his hand retreated and Mahad stared into those mesmerizing green eyes as Ryuuji touched himself, and then they were adjusting, aligning, and then Ryuuji was  _ inside _ him, hot and slick and tight, and Mahad’s mouth fell open. One hand clawed at the blanket above his head, the other dropped to clutch Ryuuji’s firm glute to press him  _ deeper _ . 

“Yes, I want you,” Mahad gasped, voice impassioned and lewd. “I want  _ all _ of you.”

Ryuuji panted, one hand on Mahad’s hip and the other propping himself up. His elbow wobbled dangerously, and he feared it would give out on him. Mahad gave him no pause, no reprieve as he drew him the closest they’d ever been. 

Mahad was something that not even his most vivid dreams could manufacture, spread out before him,  _ around _ him, hot and  _ wanting _ . Head thrown back but eyes cracked to deliriously watch his every move. All of his muscles straining beautifully beneath his skin. His hair a disheveled halo about his head. 

“Mahad,” Ryuuji whimpered, and, so,  _ so _ very  _ aroused _ , couldn’t control how his hips stuttered a moment, and the hand on his ass tightened and Mahad moaned. 

And then they were rocking together, fluid, intense, slow, and Ryuuji’s hair trailed across Mahad’s flushed skin with each thrust. 

“Yes, yes,  _ yes, yes _ ,” someone was keening, but neither was sure who. They only knew that the other was outlined with night and that the pleasure was enough to burn them even in the cool sea breeze. Mahad was bucking and tugging at Ryuuji; Ryuuji was rolling into him, like the sea crashing against the shore or the moon pulling the tides. Ryuuji’s head kicked back, and he groaned, rippling, lost for that moment, before a strong on his ribs pulled him down and lips were on his, and it mattered even less who was moaning what when they were sharing all the tender sounds between them. 

They were pressed so completely together, their edges blurred, and somewhere they had grabbed one another’s hand and they were entwined and grasping tightly just like the rest of their body. The pace built, like waves frothing in a coming storm, until they were in a frenzy, mewling and gasping and groaning, so hungry for each other but never getting enough,  _ enough _ , never enough, more, more  _ more _ . Passion unleashed, burning over dry brush and leaving nothing behind but ashes, ashes that would nourish and allow it all to grow anew. One set of hands was so tightly clenched together, but the other for each was roaming their writhing, gleaming lover.

Names were garbled but heard all the same, cried to the ocean and the stars and the moon.

They’d ended up with Mahad practically bent in half, legs slung over Ryuuji’s arms, his weight resting on Ryuuji’s quivering, heaving thighs and on his own shoulders planted firmly against the blanket. They were crying, physically and emotionally overwhelmed, but it was so  _ sweet _ , so  _ good _ , the heat that was building and making them quake until they thought that they would be shaking like this forever. 

Ryuuji’s hand clenched around Mahad’s, those green eyes -- the ones that haunted his thoughts awake and asleep alike -- stared  _ into _ him, delving through his heart and his soul. Ryuuji’s gaze was so intense it was difficult to meet, but Mahad did anyway, cried that name as the tension broke and washed over him white and hot and gold and  _ green _ .

Ryuuji was glowing brighter,  _ burning _ , his hips pumping wildly, with wanton abandon, and his shout of Mahad’s name seemed to make even the sky rumble. 

The pleasure was intense, made them mewl as they writhed against one another as if they were on fire. Soon they were panting and trembling in the aftermath, hands weak but still gripping. 

And they slumped together, sweaty and exhausted and  _ satisfied _ , for now, at least, while their hearts and breaths slowed. There they were, on a beach far from any other sentient being, under the light of the stars and the moon as the waves and palms serenaded them, but they could only see each other, the breathless, tender smiles, could only hear each other, the fading gasps and moaning sighs.

Ryuuji raised their entwine hands -- rather unsteadily, they both noted with airy chuckles -- and brushed a searing kiss to Mahad’s knuckles. 

“I don’t yet want to return you to Khemet,” Ryuuji said, hoarse and hitching. 

“Then don’t,” Mahad rasped. “We have till dawn, my love.” He chuckled, eyes falling closed. “And there is no rule that says we cannot do this there, too.”

Ryuuji pouted. “But here, you are all mine, and no one else’s. There, you have duties to attend to and expectations to meet.”

Mahad scoffed. “I doubt any of that will stop you from molesting me as I try to work.”

“My dear, I don’t believe it’s defined as ‘molestation’ if it’s consensual.”

Mahad opened his eyes just to roll them.

“You shouldn’t bother with denying it,” Ryuuji continued smugly. “I can already tell that I am irresistible to you.”

“Hmph, as if you are not the same way with me. I have a feeling that if I so much as  _ suggested _ that I wanted you to please me with your mouth all day and night, you would do it without question.”

“Now  _ that _ is a very good idea, one I plan to implement in the near future,” Ryuuji purred, nuzzling Mahad’s cheek. “I could spend eternity with my mouth on you.”

Mahad swatted him -- rather ineffectively, with how languid and warm he was. “You lewd creature.”

“ _ You _ brought the subject to hand, magician!”

But Mahad only hummed and pressed their foreheads together. Conversation faded, and they basked.

And all that could be heard was the whispering of the sea and the hiss of wind in the palms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, they wanted to take their time and I let them. Hope it didn’t feel too dragged out for you guys ^-^’
> 
> SO, here we are, at the end of the book. *tears up* But it’s not the end of our misadventures in shipping, my friends. *blows nose obnoxiously*
> 
> Be on the lookout for Volume II! I should at least be posting the preface chapter soon. 
> 
> See ya later!


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